The Ones Who Storm The Gates Of Omelas
by TheKnittingLady
Summary: What price the perfect family? Written in homage to "The ones who walk away from Omelas" by Ursula K LeGuin - Note: A continuation of "College sweethearts: Second version".
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **Rated M for future sexual situations between adults.

**Trigger warning: **This story will deal with religion and child abuse, topics which the show _Criminal Minds_ has touched on in the past, including sexual abuse, which will **not** be discussed in a graphic manner.

**Copyright notice**: All cannon characters are copyright to their creators, not owned by the author of this piece, and no copyright infringement intended. This is a piece of fan fiction, shared freely and without profit. Any resemblance of any original characters to any other person or character, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Written in homage to _The ones who walk away from Omelas_ by Ursula K LeGuin

**------**

_Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world._

_ - The Talmud_

------

**Chapter one**

**Sherif's substation**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

"So, that's it then." Sheriff Willmer hung up the phone. "The Army confirms what she's telling us, her father died in Afghanistan 4 days ago. They just informed his widow this morning. She was heading for Boston when Billy Meyers ran in to her. He'll be charged with vehicular manslaughter as a result of a DUI."

"And there's no other family?"

"No, Pastor, there isn't." The Sheriff looked over at the two men there. It was just luck that the Pastor Dan Green happened to be in the county when this happened. There wasn't a wiser man when it came to properly training children as far as he knew. And as a former Federal lawyer he was just that kind of smart as well. And even though Bob here had been a member of a different home church than he himself, why, those were good people. They had fellowshipped with his congregation at a number of events over the years. Couldn't ask for better help in a crisis. "They came down here to be close to his mother when he was called up the first time a few years ago. Technically they went to church with us but his wife and stepdaughter there were never really a part of things. They would even stop attending when he was overseas. She was Homeschooling like the rest of us, but there wasn't really anything similar."

"What do you mean?" Bob Tucker, who owned much of the commercial real estate in the area and was now a published author of sorts, wanted to know.

"She said she was teaching the girl university courses. Said she was autistic or some such thing, which was really just an excuse to not make her sit still in church. Spoiled her every which way."

"The sins of the parents are visited upon the children. Orphans carry the sins of their birth parents." Pastor Dan connected something. "You said stepdaughter?"

"Yeah. She got pregnant out of wedlock at that fancy university of hers. No record of the father at all. Married Paul when the girl was still an infant"

"So she's an orphan with nothing?" Bob concluded.

"Yeah, that's about it. Now I can go through all the trouble of calling in Social Services from Little Rock if you think it best. Ours closed down two years ago when the budgets started getting bad. But who knows what kind of family she'd end up in then. I was hoping you two fellows would know a family that could just take her in, give her a good, God fearing home."

Pastor Dan took a deep breath, rubbed his chin, and looked over at Bob. "You sure about this?"

"Oh yeah. I already have fifteen at home, one more won't be a strain."

"Yes. But you have that intern coming in in a few weeks."

"Which will give me extra help. No, the Lord said we are to help the widows and orphans, and Sandra knew her grandmother well. No, we'll take her in."

"That settles in then." Pastor Dan nodded to the Sheriff, who was quite a bit happier when he left the room then when he'd come in.

The Sheriff went into his interrogation room, where the little girl in question had been waiting. Suffering nothing more than a small cut on her head in the car crash that killed her mother, or so the doctor at the clinic had said, which was a miracle. She was supposed to be nine, but looked all of six or seven, with long brown curls and blue eyes. She was sitting there rocking slightly, staring off at nothing, and hadn't said a word since the accident, not one. When the Sheriff came in she looked at him, but not in the eye. "Okay Maddy, Mr. Tucker is going to take you in. You be a good girl for him and don't give him any trouble."

Obediently the girl slid off the chair and followed him out.

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

Madeline's first thought when she walked through the door following The Big Man was that she had been dropped into the second circle of hell. It took her a moment to justify that thought, for the second circle, according to Dante, was punishment for the sin of lust, and these were clearly children. But the way they were running about and shrieking it certainly fit the description of souls being torn about by the endless winds of their own passion. And what had at first appeared to be a giant house from the outside was actually a giant hall on the inside, clearly to give them room to blow. All she could do was cover her ears tight against the incessant noise and shrink away when the violent souls whirling about got too close.

"Everyone to the table," The Big Man was calling out, "right now!'

Madeline watched as the souls immediately stopped their whirling flight, some of the largest gathered up some of the smallest, and they immediately settled in one of the more distant corners of the room. The Big Man took her by the shoulder firmly enough to almost hurt and led her in that direction. She saw that they had all sat themselves at a long table, filling each side, boys on one side, girls on the other. Without realizing she was doing it she started counting. There were fourteen children there, assuming the one holding the littlest was the mother here. Fifteen faces were staring right at her.

"Now you all know that in James 1:27 we are commanded to care for the widows and the orphans of this world. Maddy here lost her father four days ago. He was serving our great nation over in Afghanistan. Earlier today she lost her mother as well, and she has no other family, so she will be staying with us now. I want you all to follow the Lord's command and love her as you love yourself, and your brothers and sisters. Becky," He looked down the table and Madeline saw a girl at the very end stand up, "Maddy here is your age, I want you to be her buddy for a while, help her find her way around here."

"Yes sir." The girl sat back down.

"Beatrice," A much bigger girl, near the head of the table stood. "I want you to sit her down and go through the academic placement tests with her tomorrow; we don't have any of her records. Becky will look after Bernadette for you while you do that if need be."

"Yes sir." She sat down.

"Now Maddy, I want you to go sit at the end of the table next to Becky. From now on that's your spot. When Mother Tucker or I call you to table you immediately stop what you're doing, come as fast as you can, and sit there quiet and still. Understood?"

Yes, sir, she wanted to say. But her mouth had slipped out of gear when she looked over and saw the glass that pinned her mother's throat to the car seat, and simply would not go back in so she could say anything. She nodded, though, and hoped it was enough. Then she quietly walked all the long way down to the end of the table, while every eye that could watched her go.

Once she was settled she heard The Big Man…Father Tucker, perhaps… quietly say "Now let us pray together and hear the Word of God." Everyone bowed their heads, so she did as well, but she really wasn't listening. She was so tired, and so hungry, she hadn't had any supper and lunch had been crackers and juice from the nurses at the clinic. And her head hurt and her ribs hurt where the seat belt had squished them. But her heart hurt the most, Mom was gone, she'd watched her go before the firemen got there to save her. Paul was the only father she'd ever known, but he wasn't coming home from the war. Mom and Paul are gone. Mom and Paul are gone. Mom and Paul are gone.

Without realizing it Madeline was rocking back and forth a little, and at one point she actually audibly sniffed a bit. Becky looked over and quickly nudged her a little, then shook her head. The new girl needed to learn to sit still and be quiet during devotionals or she was going to get into trouble, and get her new buddy in trouble too.

When Father Tucker said "Amen. Now off to bed." Becky jumped up and grabbed Madeline's hand. "Come on. We have fifteen minutes to get into bed. You get one chastisement for every minute past." Becky gave her a tug and got the other girl following her.

What's chastisement, Madeline wanted to ask, and where am I going to sleep? But Becky was tugging her up the stairs with the rest of the heard, for that was what they had become, and then down one side of the hall with the rest of the girls. First stop was a big room which was nothing but one giant closet. "Here" Becky said as she shoved a worn, old nightdress into Madeline's arms. "I'll explain how the closet works tomorrow. Just don't take your underwear off. Now come on."

She was tugging Madeline again, this time in to a big, open bathroom. Some of the older girls were already helping the little ones with brushing their teeth at one of the four sinks. Past that were four toilet stalls, looking a lot like the kinds you would see in a restaurant, and past that were two shower stalls, with curtains, and a big tub on the back of the long room. "Here." Becky pushed Madeline into one of the toilet stalls. "Remember, you only get five minutes in there at a time, or in the shower. Or anywhere alone. If you're alone longer than five minutes Mom or Dad or Beatrice will come get you out, to make sure you're not sinning, and then you'll get chastised for making them come after you. Now change quick!"

Sinning, Madeline thought, it's a bathroom. There's a toilet and some paper, how am I supposed to sin? But she did what wanted doing and changed quickly. She gathered up her dress and blouse and hurried back out to where the other girls were washing hands and brushing teeth, mostly having changed already. She didn't even have a toothbrush. "Mom will have to give you one in the morning, they're downstairs in storage. Come on!" Just like a whirlwind Becky pulled her into another big room, this one all done in pastels and lace and full of beds. She pulled her down next to one on to her knees and waited. The big girl from earlier came over and tried to put one of the younger children next to them, and a squabble ensued.

"Make room for Brittany."

"No, she's going to have to sleep with you now. She's your buddy and Maddy is mine."

"But I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to have my own bed."

"But I have a buddy now!"

"She can sleep on the floor bed!"

"Girls." Came a quiet, worn voice from the doorway. The woman there was stock and looked old. She had a baby over her shoulder and spots from the baby on her clothes. "Apologize to each other for arguing."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"Now I am sorry Beatrice, but Becky is right, Maddy is her buddy now and buddies stick together. Brittany will have to sleep in your bed. Next year when Benedict moves in to his own home with Anna you will be the eldest and have your own room." Beatrice capitulated and moved to her bed, but not before throwing a cruel look at Madeline, unseen by anyone else. The woman, Mother Tucker, sat down in a rocking chair by the window. "Prayers girls."

After the prayer was finished they all climbed in to bed. Madeline had never slept with anyone before, was used to her own room and lots of time alone, but now she didn't even have her own bed. Mother Tucker made the round, pulling up covers and saying good night. When she got to Becky and Madeline she said a quick prayer for the orphan. "Don't cry for your parents, there's nothing you can do for her now. Just go to sleep and tomorrow will be a new day in the Lord."

The light went out and everyone quickly settled to sleep. Before she closed her eyes Becky rolled over and whispered, "I'd rather have you than Brittany, she still wets the bed."

Madeline huddled down in the strange clothes in the strange bed. Nothing felt right, everything seemed to scratch and everything even smelled wrong. She thought of her parents, how they were never coming for her now, ever. They'd never understood her; they never really felt right, like they belonged together. But they cared about her, she knew that, and they tried so hard and she missed them horribly. All those times I wanted to go home, to some other home somewhere, and find my real parents who really understood, and now I don't even have the ones I had. I want to go home, she thought, I want my mommy and daddy. I want to go home. I want to go _home_.

Contrary to instructions she cried herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

"Time to get up, hurry!"

Madeline felt like she hadn't slept at all. After she cried herself to sleep she's been woken repeatedly by dreams of her stepfather smiling at her in his uniform, then getting blown to pieces in front of her, only to be replaced by her mother telling her everything would be fine once they got back to Boston. She could even go to school there. Only a moment later the car hit and the glass slid across her throat. She sat up; about to say something, anything at the strange girl in her room until she looked around and realized that this wasn't her room at all, and it all came back to her.

Becky all but yanked her out of the bed and to her knees, garbling a quick prayer by her side. Then she pushed her to the other side of the bed. "Help me make it, we have to get downstairs!" They made the bed as quick as they could and then Madeline followed Becky to the giant closet room. "Here. You look like you're about my size." A full set of clothing was quickly tossed into her arms, everything from underwear to some giant swath of denim. "Come on!" Back to the bathroom to dress and do what wanted doing in a heartbeat. The giant swath of denim confused her. There were no pants in her bundle, so it had to be the bottom that would go with the overlarge, much washed polo shirt, but for the life of her she had no clue how. She stepped out of the stall and looked around for Becky, holding it up with a confused look on her face.

"Haven't you ever worn a skirt before?" one of the other girls asked. She showed Madeline how to toss it over her head and pull it down, doing up the waist band like a pair of jeans. It hung down to the tops of her feet, would trip her if she wasn't careful, and was simply huge. Her entire bottom half disappeared behind a denim curtain.

Becky came back over and helped her tug some of the tangles out of her curls. She was in her own sheet-like polo and curtain of denim, as were all the other girls. Only the littlest ones showed their legs from the knees down. "That skirt fits you well." Becky commented, "We're all very modest here, we don't want to excite the boys to lust." Lust, Madeline thought, maybe this is the second circle of hell after all. She knew she was too young for biology, although that would become an issue someday. But for now boys were violent beasts who were more than a little icky and best avoided altogether if possible. But there was no time to calm down and reconnect her tongue and tell Becky that. It was clearly time to head down, the herd was moving. Becky grabbed her hand and tugged her down the stairs after her.

Madeline all but ran after Becky as she stopped at a shelf in the corner of the great hall and pulled one of several books from the shelf. They each had one, Madeline realized, one for each one old enough to be reading. Madeline trailed after the herd until they were back at the long table, back in the same seat as last night. Only this time Father Tucker was nowhere to be seen. Mother Tucker was leading the table. She cleared her throat and the entire table fell utterly silent.

They stood and sang a song that Madeline didn't know, and then they sat and upon instruction opened their books to "Psalm 145." Like well ordered soldiers, Madeline thought, all marching in a row. Mother Tucker asked Bobby to read the Psalm and give the reflection. The oldest boy at the table, the one next to the empty spot, who looked to be about sixteen or so, stood and started reading. Madeline didn't pay any attention; she simply went away for a while. She imagined she was back home, and Mom and Paul were talking about what they would be doing that day while she ate her eggs.

"Sit still Maddy." Maddy looked down at the other end of the table, where Mother Tucker had interrupted Bobby. She hadn't been moving, had she? She wanted to say she was sorry or something, but having all those eyes looking at her made her mouth slip right out of gear. She simply nodded slowly, noting Mother Tucker's frown. Bobby started up again and she went back to remembering her own, quiet home and what her mother's hugs felt like. After a few moments more, "Sit still, Maddy!" She drooped a little in her seat. By the third "Sit still, child!" her head was almost touching the table. She didn't know what she was doing wrong.

Finally Mother Tucker intoned, "Breakfast." Becky tugged her over to a corner of the dining area where there was an actual soda fountain and some big box of something. There were two trays of glasses there. "Here, you fill. I'll pass." Becky said, and showed her how to fill the glasses from the big box. You pressed the glass against the lever under it and the glass filled with milk. Sixteen glasses needed to be filled, and sixteen places set, and from the looks of it when she turned around the boys were still sitting and not doing anything. The eldest girls were sitting with the babies, while the four middle girls, her included, did all the work.

She finally sat back at the table, and looked up toward Mother Tucker. Bowls were being passed down, one person to another. Finally there was talking and loud laughter going on. No one person might have been loud but together they sounded like thunder, and made it impossible to discern any individual voice. There was no way she could say anything in that room, none at all. By the time the bowl reached her it was nearly empty. She scraped the lump of oatmeal into her bowl, and looked around for anything to have with it. There was sugar on the table, and raisins, and what might be cream, but it was all at the other end, and there was no way her voice would work to ask for it to be passed. Slowly she ate her bit of plain oatmeal and drank her milk, and that was all.

After breakfast they were all silent as Bobby lead them in another prayer, then Mother Tucker started handing out chores. She would stay with Becky for morning chore time, they were supposed to go start the laundry, then Mother Tucker wanted her to go through 'Church Training' with Barnabas and Blake for thirty minutes while Becky practiced her that she was to join Beatrice in the schoolroom for testing until lunch.

They all scattered to their respective chores. Laundry sounded simple enough, surely. Take it to the machines, wherever they were, sort and wash, dry, fold, put away somehow. The first problem, she saw when they started collecting upstairs, was simple volume. There were eighteen people living here, and at least three of them were in diapers and four more were of the age and sex where running in the mud outside seemed like a fine idea at least once a day. So on any given day there were thirty changes of clothes plus nightclothes plus towels plus kitchen linens plus sheets, especially for those who still wet the bed. The daily pile was clearly enormous, but there were two other girls and between the four of them they managed to haul the vast pile down two flights of stairs to the laundry room in the basement. All Madeline could think was that wouldn't it have been easier to put the laundry room upstairs where 95% of the laundry was generated, and just have to haul the one load of kitchen laundry up and down the one flight of stairs every day?

As they went Becky explained the closet system. "Everything we wear is mostly hand-me-down, and Momma buys it at the thrift shops anyway, so there's no point in being particular about it. It's all laid out by size; just grab something the night before that fits. We get three new dresses a year, to wear on Christmas, Resurrection Sunday and for the tea party at the Father-Daughter retreat. And then when you turn 15 and go to the Purity Ball you get a formal gown."

Madeline wanted to know what a Father-Daughter retreat was, and what a Purity Ball could be, but she had yet to be quiet long enough to get her mouth to work. She'd ask about those mysteries later, she decided. Then they turned a corner and she almost stopped thinking at all. The laundry room was huge! There were four giant washers on one side, all as tall as she was, and four giant dryers on the other. At the back of the room was a long table for folding and two irons and ironing boards. No wonder they didn't put it upstairs, there was no room at all. Becky walked her through sorting and starting the loads with the other two girls, each taking a machine, so the work didn't take too long. Madeline had never had to do laundry before, but it didn't look all that difficult to manage.

Just before the thirty minutes allotted for the chore were up Mother Tucker appeared in the doorway. "Is she doing all right Becky?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Becky quickly replied.

"Good. Come with me Maddy." With the littlest over her shoulder, Mother Tucker led Madeline into another part of the basement. This was a vast storage area, all sorts of excess food and goods, looking more like a grocery store than anything else. They stopped at one shelf after the other gathering a water glass, toothbrush, comb, and lastly a book just like the others. Madeline looked down and realized she was holding a bible. "Deal Lord, we pray that this child be steeped in Your Blessed Word, and that she learn wisdom and to walk in Your Light. Amen." Mother Tucker headed out toward the stairs again, with Madeline following dutifully after, looking at the bible in her hand. I really don't want to read it, she thought, it's rather dull as far as mythology goes. I haven't seen any other books around here, though. They have all sorts of other rooms; maybe they have a library so the little ones don't mess up the books.

She followed Mother Tucker up to the main floor, where once again the littlest and younger boys were throwing themselves about, howling and screaming like the souls in the second level of hell. "Barnabas! Blake!" The two boys, twins from the looks of them and all of four, came running. "Get your bibles; it's time for church training." The two boys ran to get their books and then sat on one of the couches. "Now, sit there Maddy, next to Blake." Madeline sat and opened her book like the two boys. She noticed that Blake had a little picture bible, while Barnabas had a larger print, child's version. She opened hers and found the same. As soon as my mouth kicks back in to gear, she thought, I'll ask for a real one. At least it will be something to read.

"Look at me." Mother Tucker was saying to her. Madeline looked up at her, as close to her eyes as she could get, the way Mrs. Johnston, her therapist had taught her. Most adults won't notice that you're not looking them in the eye, she had said, if you look at their nose or forehead or an eyebrow. Get as close as you can and it ought to be okay. It seemed to work on Mother Tucker at least. "Now I want you to sit utterly still for thirty minutes. You'll be expected to through church service, and that goes up to two hours at a stretch. After this morning, though, I expect thirty is all you can do. After the second reminder you'll receive one chastisement for every time I have to speak to you. Now sit quietly and read."

Madeline sat and focused her eyes on the book, but she already knew what would happen. She concentrated as hard as she could, but slowly, ever so slowly the world seemed to start to slip a bit. She started feeling like little bits of her were drifting off somewhere and something in the back of her head started to throb. Without realizing it she began to rock back and forth, just a little, just to reestablish where she was in space, to counteract the drift of the world. "Sit still Maddy." Well, that was one reminder, she thought. After a few minutes more. "That's your second warning, Maddy." She tried, oh how she tried, but it was simply impossible. "That's one chastisement, Maddy." "That's two." "That's three." By the time Mother Tucker called time she'd earned five chastisements, whatever those were. "Even the little boys are better at sitting still than you are, a great big girl like you. Didn't your mother ever train you for church?" No, she wanted to say, we only went to church when Paul's mother insisted, but her mouth simply would not function. "I expect you to answer me with a 'Yes, Ma'am' or a "No, Ma'am' do you understand?" Madeline nodded. "Then answer me." Madeline breathed, but it was too sharp and too quick and there was too much going on and the words simply would not come. "That will be five more if you don't answer." She tried, oh how she tried. "Fine, that will make ten so far tonight. Come along."

Mother Tucker led Madeline past the dining area and the kitchen, past another kitchen, this one looking like the cafeteria at school, and into a room that was lined with computer stations. Here were the big boys, and some of the other girls about her age, including Becky, working at what looked to be lessons. Right behind them came Beatrice, carrying little Bernadette who was all of two. "Becky, you take Bernadette. Beatrice, go ahead and test her in everything at the three to eight grade level. It should take six hours all told, so you'll be working on it this afternoon as well."

Madeline sat down at the computer, listened to the instructions, and began. Testing, she knew testing; this was firm footing for her. Not only was she confident and comfortable for the first time in days, it was quiet enough in here that she might even be able to talk again by lunchtime!

------

**Author's note:** Yes, these first chapters are a little dull while I establish the setting and the family situation. Yes, this is a _Criminal Minds_ fanfict. The cannon characters will be along, just think of this as establishing the crime before the opening credits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

At noon the big clock down in the main hall chimed and the blowing souls cheered. Madeline had just finished the testing, had stepped aside so Beatrice could run the placement algorithm program. "That's lunchtime." Beatrice said. "Go with Becky, she'll show you what to do."

Madeline headed back toward the main hall and found Becky heading into the cafeteria like kitchen. "Come on, we have to get lunch ready. We get the easy part, since you're new."

"O..oh…okay." Madeline managed to stammer out. Then she smiled, the quiet of the morning had done its work, she could talk again.

Becky, however, frowned. "Don't you have more self-control than that? If you keep stuttering they're going to chastise you for not taking control of your tongue. Come on."

This just left Madeline confused again. Just being able to talk at all was supposed to be a grand thing according to her mother and the doctor. What was a little stuttering? When it was quiet enough, or with people she knew well, she could usually talk just fine. She'd settle in eventually, surely. Right?

The 'easy part' turned out to be cleaning and cutting carrots into sticks and apples into wedges. From further in the kitchen came a pleasant, savory smell. Once the bowls of carrots and apples were on the table they set about filling milk glasses again and setting the places. In no time the family was back at the table, and once again was being led in prayer.

When the plate of main dish finally made it down to Madeline she found a single grilled cheese sandwich left, as well as a handful of carrot sticks and about half an apple. By now her stomach was so empty that it was trying to claw its way out, either straight up her throat or out her back, hard to tell which. So she eagerly lit into the meal. The apple and carrots were simple enough, but she nearly choked on the supposed grilled cheese. The bread was thin and turned to paste in her mouth, it had been rubbed with some oily substance, and what passed for cheese had the texture of melted plastic in the middle, and no flavor other than salt. This was nothing like what her Mom made, at all. She sat there a moment with the bite she had taken in her mouth and watched the other children wolfing them down and sighed to herself. It's a grilled cheese sandwich, she thought, or it's supposed to be and it doesn't seem to be doing them any harm. Bite by bite, with the help of sips of milk, she forced her lunch down.

After lunch the other middle girls did the dishes while Madeline stood there as Beatrice presented the test results to Mother Tucker. "That's not possible." Mother Tucker said. "She finished all the tests in one morning, and tested out of the eighth grade?"

"Yes, Ma'am," was all Beatrice could say. "The test results were right there."

"All right, you mind the baby and get the little ones down for their naps. I'll put her though the high school testing myself this afternoon."

------

When 5 pm came Madeline had finished the second round of testing. Father Tucker was home, and Mother Tucker was giving him the results, dumbfounded. "She passed into the tenth grade. Almost twice her age! And even further in Mathematics, she could be in college there!"

"Well, that's just ridiculous." He grumbled. "Her parents must have indulged her in the sin of intelligence while not granting her the gift of wisdom." He looked at Madeline and sighed. "Well, she clearly doesn't need any more schooling. Keep training her and she can learn to cook and clean and look after the little ones. She needs to learn to be a good wife and mother, not to get into some socialist liberal university." He nodded to Madeline, "Go help Becky set the table."

Madeline heard this and her heart sank. One of the reasons why they were moving back to Boston was to give her the chance to attend Harvard next year. She'd hoped for CalTech once Paul got out of the military, but his death made that unlikely. Mom had friends in Boston, she'd said, a support network and Harvard was a very good school. But now Madeline could feel those dreams start dribbling away. Maybe when I'm a grown up, she thought, but how stupid will I be with nothing even to read until then? "Y…yes S…Sir."

Father Tucker frowned. "You need to learn self control. Now stop stuttering."

"Y…yes, S…sir."

"I said stop stuttering."

"I'm…I'm…I'm t…tr…trying."

"No back-talk. You will be chastised five times for talking back to your elders. Now go set the table."

By keeping it a whisper she managed to get it out. "Yes, Sir." That makes fifteen, whatever they are. She headed back to the dining room and the now familiar chore of setting the table. She tried not to think about the bleakness of the future now before her, meaning, of course, that she thought of nothing else, until she scraped supper out of the bowl and onto the plate before her.

Phlegm, she thought, it's a bowl of chunky phlegm. There were large chunks of things, all covered in a thick, viscous white sauce with small brown bits. Thankfully they also passed a bowl of broccoli. She ate that while she contemplated the other stuff in front of her and watched the other kids. They all seemed to be eating it happily, so she tried a bite. The phlegmy stuff quickly coated her mouth with a thick, yeasty, chemically flavor that would not go away no matter how much milk she sipped. I can't eat this, she thought, it will make me sick.

At the end of the meal she got up to carry her half-full plate to the kitchen, only to have Beatrice stop her. "Dad." She called out. "Maddy didn't finish her supper."

Mother Tucker came down to the end of the table, balancing the baby on her shoulder. "Why didn't you finish, Maddy? Don't you like tater tot casserole?"

"N…n…no, Ma'am. I'm…I'm s…sorry."

"Well we don't waste food here. Now sit down and finish it. No play time for you until you do."

Madeline sat. For the next two hours she sat there while the other children brought out games and toys and some of the older girls practices with musical instruments in the other room. She sat and tried to choke down bite after bite, but it was simply impossible. Each bite made her want to gag. While she tried and tried, Father Tucker passed out ice cream to the other children. Only some of the boys came over to tease her by savoring it in front of her.

Finally Father Tucker came back over. "Well, if you're not going to finish it tonight you can just have it for breakfast in the morning. Beatrice, cover this and put it in the fridge."

"Yes, Sir." Madeline whispered. Breakfast tomorrow, she sagged, she was so hungry, hungrier than she had ever been, and it wasn't going to get any better anytime soon. She had an idea then, and went and hugged Father Tucker around the waist to say she was sorry. Or tried to, at least, he grabbed her arms before she got even close.

"How dare you!" He thundered, causing several children nearby to stop and turn their heads. "We do not touch each other in this house! We do not tempt each other to the sin of lust!" He took her by the arm and dragged her upstairs. "I will chastise you five times for that, and you can spend an hour in the prayer closet asking Jesus to remove the sin from your soul." He stopped before a door, opened it, and pushed her in. Madeline heard it lock behind her.

It was pitch black in there, but she'd never been afraid of the dark. She carefully felt her way forward, until her hands encountered a chair, and then a table, and then a lamp. Switching it on she found a closet sized room with a bible on the small table with the lamp, and that was all. Well, at least it's quiet, she thought, and it's a real book. She sat down to read until they decided to let her out again.

An hour later Father Tucker opened the door. "I hope that helped you. Now go meet Becky in the girl's room so you can take your bath, then come to my office for your chastisement."

The hour alone had actually been a help. The bible was as dull as she remembered, and she didn't pray, but she'd been able to do her breathing exercises fully for the first time since the accident. At least she had full control of her mouth again. "Yes, Sir," she replied, and she scooted past him and down the hall.

Showers, as it turned out, were shared. Each of the two stalls had two benches to hold clothing on a dry side, and then a set of two shower heads. "That's so we're not tempted to the sin of self-pollution." Becky told her as she looked over this curious arrangement, "Just keep your back to me and I'll not look at you and it will be all right."

"What's self-pollution?" Madeline wanted to know.

"Hey, you do talk!" Madeline could hear her grinning. "You know, I don't know. All I know is that if you're never alone you're never tempted."

"I was alone in the prayer closet."

"No, there's a bible in there. That means that Jesus was watching." Becky paused a moment. "Did you sin?"

"No, I just read a little and did some breathing exercises my Mom taught me, so I could start talking again. It helps when it's quiet."

"Oh. Well you can always go in there when you need quiet to talk to the Lord, and you have some free time."

"That's good to know." Madeline stuck her head under the spray to wash her hair. The soap and stuff wasn't fancy, it didn't smell at all, but it worked. Mom's used to smell like grapefruit and apples, she thought, but nothing isn't bad.

They finished quickly, like everything else, although she would have loved to linger under the warm spray. When they were toweling off with their backs to each other Madeline asked, "Becky, what's a chastisement?"

"That's when Dad, Mom sometimes when Dad's out of town on business, or sometimes Benedict when they're both gone, but mostly Dad, takes a piece of plumbing line, like that," Madeline looked over her shoulder and saw her pointing to the plastic tube that ran from the hand held shower head to the wall, "And whacks you over the backside with it."

It took a moment for that to sink in. "He hits you?"

"Yeah. You kneel on his couch against the back and he lifts up your nightgown and whacks you across the backside, where you sit. It hurts an awful lot and it leaves this raised bump that hurts for a few days." They pulled their nightgowns over their heads and Becky turned to look at her. "Haven't you ever been chastised before?"

Madeline didn't know that she had gone pale and that her eyes had gone wide. "N…no."

"Didn't you Momma or Daddy ever spank you?"

"N…no." I'm going to get hit, she thought, just like sailors at sea getting whipped or something. I'm going to get hit.

"Oh. How many did you earn today?"

"T…t…twenty."

"Wow. Okay, well, I'll tell Dad. He might go easy on you." Becky dragged her over to brush teeth. "Just whatever you do don't fight back. You can cry; that's how they know that the sin is coming out, but don't fight or try to get away. If you do they just keep adding on. And be sure to thank him after."

"Thank him?" For hitting me, Madeline thought.

"For chastising and correcting you."

Madeline could barely brush her teeth or comb out her hair from fear. She'd never been hit before. Not ever. Not once! She had no idea what it could possibly feel like except that it was going to hurt and hurt and hurt. And she didn't even know exactly what she did wrong!

Finally it was time. Becky led her down the hall to Father Tucker's office and knocked on the door. Father Tucker opened his door. "All right Maddy, come in and kneel on the couch, facing the back to brace yourself."

"Daddy, may I speak?" Becky asked.

"Yes, you may."

"Daddy, Maddy says she's never been chastised before."

"I figured as much. It's about time she learned to fear the Lord." Becky nodded when she heard this and gave Madeline one stricken look of sympathy. "Go on to bed, then. She knows the way back."

Madeline climbed on to the couch and leaned against the back. I want to go home, she thought, I want my Mommy and Daddy. I want a new Mommy and Daddy, real ones. I want to go home. Her cheeks burned when she felt the cool of the air on her backside. No one had ever looked at her there except her Mommy and Dr. Barker. She didn't even think Paul ever changed her diapers. And now this strange man was looking at her!

And then, all of a sudden, her backside was on fire!

She screamed and fell forward as the line of fire erupted on her backside. Then there was another, and another. She howled and cried as the blows rained down, one after the other with no mercy. When he was finished she was a sobbing, tear streaked mess, and she swore she'd never sit down again.

She felt her nightgown fall like acid against her skin, and then he was hauling her to her feet. "Th...th…thank y…y…you f…f...for ck…correcting mu…me…s…s…sir." she managed to babble out through her tears.

He grunted an acknowledgement. "Good. Now remember, Maddy, the Lord forgives all sins. Tomorrow is a new day in His Light. We will start fresh in the morning. Go to bed. Good night."

Start fresh, she thought, start fresh? She stopped in the bathroom for just a moment to have a look at her bum in the mirror. It was bright red and criss-crossed with raised welts that hurt even more when she poked at them. I hate him, she thought, I hate them all. I didn't do anything wrong and they hit me for it! She crawled into bed just as Mother Tucker was turning out the light, and didn't say anything to Becky or anyone. I want to go home, she silently sobbed, I want to go home!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

The next day started off badly, even before dawn. After crying herself to sleep Madeline woke in the middle of the night as her stomach tried to twist itself in knots. She remembered something her Mom had said once, about being sensitive to chemicals in food, along with other things, and how fake food was what was making her sick, and how hard it was to get real stuff once they moved down here to live with Paul's mother. Something I ate, she thought, which must be the sandwich because everything else I ate I've eaten before. A moment later the knife sharp pain cramped her stomach again, and left her all but breathless.

I have to go, she thought, and she slipped out of bed. She didn't turn on any lights, not wanting to wake the other girls; she just crept off to the bathroom and stayed there until the storm passed. Then, dizzy and weak, she crawled back into bed.

Later that morning as they went downstairs Beatrice stopped at Father Tucker's side. "Daddy, last night Maddy went off into the bathroom in the dark, and she stayed there for twenty minutes."

Father Tucker sighed. "Becky, did you tell Maddy about the rule of not being alone?"

"Yes, sir." Really, what else could Becky say?

"I guess the time in the prayer closet didn't do a lick of good. That's five chastisements tonight for breaking the rules, Maddy, and another hour tonight to pray against lust."

"B…b…but I…" I was sick, she wanted to say, I wasn't doing anything!

"And five more for talking back. Now go sit down for morning devotions."

Madeline slumped into her seat. Ten more lashes, and it wasn't even breakfast yet.

The day continued, much like the day before. Rather than oatmeal she had to face the plate of phlegm from last night, now cold and congealed. She forced down a few more bites, but still could not clean it to anyone's satisfaction, and so it was returned to the fridge. The laundry was dragged downstairs. She had to try to sit still through 'church training' again, and earned herself another five lashes. She didn't bother to tell them that she didn't realize she was rocking, it would only be talking back and then they would hit her more.

After 'church training' she reported to Beatrice in the kitchen. "Mom wants you to learn how to clean a kitchen properly. That way you can work on it while the other girls work do their school work.

They scrubbed the counter, the stove, the microwave. As they worked Madeline felt the cramps starting up again. I'll only have five minutes in there, she thought, I have to wait as long as I can. So she continued to work at the chores even as the pain in her stomach brought tears to her eyes. At least I'm not sitting down, she thought, sitting hurts. But then there was tonight to worry about, which made her stomach cramp more. Eventually she could wait no longer and ran off.

Four minutes later she came back, "When you're working on an assignment you're supposed to ask permission to be released." Beatrice frowned. "Didn't Becky tell you that?"

Well, no, Madeline thought, but she didn't want the closest thing she had to a friend to get into trouble. "Y…yes. I'm sorry. I forgot"

"Apology accepted. But this is your only warning. Now this is how you scrub the sink." Madeline cheered up a little; at least she dodged one bullet today.

Lunch, however, earned her five more. "Determined to be stubborn are you? Well, all right then." They finally scraped the last chunks of gunk from her plate, as the other children cleaned away a lunch of what might have been perfectly acceptable peanut butter and jelly. Madeline sighed. She was so hungry she was starting to get dizzy.

But there was no time to be sick. After lunch Becky showed her how to do the dusting, which meant she got to see most of the rooms of the house. And all of the books. "Are these all of your books?" Madeline asked, as they dusted the three shelf bookcase in the computer lined schoolroom.

"Oh, no. We have a few up in the bedroom bout submitting to Daddy and being a good wife. I'll show you when we get up there. And Dad has another shelf in his office. I don't know if there are any in the boy's room, or Benedict's room, or Mom and Dad's bedroom, we're not allowed in there."

"Can you read the one's from your dad's office."

"No, those are his books."

"Oh." So this was the only shelf, then, really. The bottom was full of trays of picture books for the little ones, and easy readers filled the middle shelf. Only the top shelf looked like any kind of real reading books. Madeline pulled one out and was surprised. It showed two people standing with what might have been a pet T-rex. "You read science fiction/"

"That's not science fiction, that's our Creation Science book." Becky opened it up and showed her some more pictures. "See, that's before the fall, when the dinosaurs were all vegetarians."

"Really?"

"Yep. They were wiped out in Noah's flood. Haven't you ever heard of dragons?" When Madeline nodded she smiled. "That's why; the dragons were the last of the dinosaurs. It's silly to think that the dinosaurs lived so long ago, when all of creation has only been around for about six thousand years. If you ask me, all those university scientists are the real tale tellers."

I wish I would have finished reading Dante's Inferno, Madeline thought, maybe there's a hell for those who keep others ignorant. Maybe I'm there.

Dinner was a bowl of spaghetti, which wasn't all that different from what she knew, and a piece of bread spread with more of that oily stuff. With the help of the milk she choked it down. After dinner she did one sink full of dishes while Becky did the other, then she was sent to the prayer closet while the other children had brownies. She didn't miss them; they were from a box and would have made her ill again, while being alone in the quiet was becoming a treat. After the door was unlocked and she was allowed to leave the small room she had to go shower, and then present herself for another beating. Twenty more lashes, and now she had welts over welts. Once again she cried herself to sleep.

------

The next day, Saturday, brought more of the same. She learned to scrub the stove in the big kitchen, helped Mother Tucker clean out the refrigerator, only earned six lashes all day, and those during 'training', and she managed not to get sick. On the other hand, they had grilled cheese for lunch again, so she fully expected to be sick again before morning.

The biggest excitement of the day was Benedict coming home.

He was a big boy of twenty-one, the oldest of the clan, and had been off courting his girl, Anna. He looks just like them, Madeline thought, as she watched the others gathering around him, it's not just the dark blondish hair, or the light eyes, they're all a piece. Kind of average height and the boys look stocky and thick in the middle, and all their features are kind of blunt and round. Even Mother and Father Tucker look about the same, and they're only related through marriage. She looked down at her reflection in the pan she was scrubbing, considered her dark curls, bright eyes, slight build and fine features. I'm never going to fit in with this family, she concluded.

"Benedict, this is Maddy. She's the orphan I've agreed to take in and train."

"Nice to meet you Maddy."

Madeline looked over and smiled at Benedict, her hands still in the dish water. He was looking her over, all over, in a way that just did not feel right at all. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

"At least she's trying to learn manners." Father Tucker laughed. "Come on over and tell me how Anna's folks are doing out in Florida."

Once the two men had moved away Madeline turned to Becky. "What's courting?"

"That's what happened after Mom and Dad find you a husband or a wife. That's when you get to know them a little before the wedding."

"They pick your husband?"

"Yep. That way you know they're God-fearing, a good provider, and believe the same things you do, and your families will get along."

"Oh."

"Yep. I heard that Benedict was supposed to be able to hold Anna's hand on this trip."

"Hold hands?"

"Yes, can you believe it? Isn't it the most romantic thing ever! I bet they can't wait for their wedding day, when they'll get to have their first kiss."

"Ew."

"What?"

"Kissing. It's just…yuuuck."

Becky just laughed at that. "I bet Beatrice doesn't think so. Daddy has a new intern coming, all the way from Alaska. They're hoping he'll be good enough for her."

"An intern?"

"Yes, he's coming to learn how to be a good, Godly man and husband like Daddy. Then hopefully he'll start his own business and marry Beatrice."

"Oh."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Church of the Covenant**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

Sunday was completely different. They all piled into a bus, a real, honest bus, and headed off to church.

Becky looked over where Madeline was drooped against the window. "What's wrong?"

"I'm wondering how much of a beating I'm going to earn today." Madeline sighed. "I know no one believes me, but I really don't notice that I'm wiggling, or whatever it is."

"You really don't feel yourself doing it?"

"No."

Becky cocked her head as she thought about this, "Well, we'll sit together. I'll poke you a little when you start, then you'll know to stop."

"You may be poking a lot."

"That's okay, we have to stick together."

Morning service was two solid hours long, mostly of Pastor Mike ranting and raving about lust and homosexuality and who knows what else. She just ignored him and went away into her inside place. She was Sara Crewe in Victorian London, and some day the diamond-mines would be real again. Every so often she felt a gentle tap on her arm and she forced her body back to utter stillness, save a grateful look over at Becky.

When the noontime break finally came Father Tucker stopped them before they went out with the other children. "Becky, I noticed you helping Maddy to try to sit still. That was very good of you."

"Thank you, Sir." Becky beamed

"And Maddy, I noticed you trying. That's good; I know you can behave correctly if you continue to try."

"Thank you, Sir." No I can't, Madeline thought, and a compliment isn't going to make you any less mean. My backside aches now, that pew is hard.

As Father Tucker moved away Becky turned to Madeline. "I know you'll be able to do it eventually. You just didn't learn when you were little like we did. Come on, I'll introduce you to the other girls. Do you know how to play jacks?"

"No, I don't." Madeline hung back a bit. "Do I have to, meet them I mean?"

"They're great. What's the matter?" Becky frowned. "Are you shy?" When Madeline nodded she shook her head. "I don't know. Dad says being shy is the sin of pride, but Mom says it can just be girls being modest, so I don't know. But you don't have to worry about Honor and Justice; they're a lot of fun. Come on."

Just as Becky took Madeline's hand and tugged her toward the door they heard Father Tucker calling her back to the head of the church. Saved by the monster, Madeline thought, as Becky headed outside and she headed back.

"Maddy, this is Pastor Mike." Father Tucker introduced her to the man who seemed to be hiding a smile behind his beard. "He wants to talk to you a bit. Mother Tucker and I will be right outside." Father Tucker left them up there in the first pew, and headed to the back where some people still lingered.

"Now Maddy." the pastor was saying, "I know Sheriff Wilmer said that you went to his church sometimes with your family. What I want to know is if you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ."

That was the most confusing thing anyone had ever asked Madeline. "I don't understand."

"Have you accepted Jesus in your heart? Have you accepted him as your Savior?"

"Jesus? You mean, like in the bible?"

"Yes, that Jesus. Tell me what you believe about him."

Madeline shrugged. "There's not really anything to believe. I read it when Mrs. Jackson, my tutor at school, and I were studying mythology. It was interesting, but I liked the Norse myths better."

The Pastor was frowning. "The bible isn't mythology, Maddy."

"Of course it is." Talking about school and stuff she had read, studied. She was quite comfortable ground here. She might have finally found a grown up she could talk to. She settled back and swung her legs a little. "There's no scientific or historical proof, we looked. The Hebrew God and the Christian Jesus aren't any more real than Zeus or Odin. But we found some nifty parallels between the philosophy attributed to Jesus and the writing of Gautama Buddha. Mom said Paul, Paul of Tarsus not my stepdad Paul, must have been really smart and well traveled to sort all that out. Did you know that the library of Tarsus held 200,000 books about the time that Paul was a child?"

"Silence!" Pastor Mike thundered out. "Do not say another word!" For a moment Madeline wondered if he was sick, he folded his hands and looked up at the sky, his lips moving like he was having a spasm. Then he got up. "Stay right there." Madeline stayed, but turned her head to watch him head outside.

A moment later he came back, along with Father Tucker. "Tell me what you just told the Pastor about God, Maddy."

"That I learned about him when I was studying mythology, along with Odin and Zeus."

"God is not a myth, child."

"Yes, he is."

Father Tucker turned to Pastor Mike. "I am so sorry, Pastor, I had no idea."

"It is understandable. Satan hides in the innocent; it is how he deceives us." Pastor Mike sighed. "It must have been her parents, 'I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me.' She said Paul was her stepfather?"

"Yes. She doesn't know who her real father is."

"Ah. All right then. Well, I will support any decision you make. I highly suggest you consult with Sandra, as she will bear the burden much of the time."

"Of course, Pastor."

"Um. Excuse me, please." Madeline piped up, but then her heart quailed at the looks on the faces of the two men. "C,,,can I go get my lu…lunch now, p…please?"

"No. You will not have any contact with our children." Pastor Mike shook his head. "Stay here; someone will bring you some food."

No contact with the other children, what did I do? "Th…thank you," was the only thing Madeline dared say.

She sat in the quiet church after the two men left, swung her legs a bit, and waited. After a while Benedict came in with a plate, two hot dogs, some cut up apple, some potato chips, and a bottle of water. "Thank you." She said, trying to be polite and all, but he didn't say anything back. He just looked at her like he was appraising her or something. She held a hot dog and looked back, until he finally left.

The hot dogs weren't the best, but they were good, and enough that she didn't feel hungry, finally. She waited and waited, and finally people started coming back in. When Pastor Mike came by she had to ask him, "May I go to the bathroom?"

He frowned at her, then turned and looked around him. He approached a woman standing nearby who came over to her. "Get your trash and come with me." Madeline obediently collected her plate and bottle and followed the strange woman. She led her out the door and across the grass to another building, and then in and past a bustling kitchen. As the passed a trash can she said "Toss that away." Madeline did so and followed her to a small bathroom. "Go quickly."

"Yes, Ma'am." Madeline finished her business as quickly as she could, and then followed the woman back to the church. When they got there pretty much everyone was in and she went to sit next to Becky again, right on the aisle, but Father Tucker stopped her, grabbing her arm hard enough to really hurt and leave marks, and dragged her over to sit in the next pew back, where the boys sat, and all the way on the other side, between him and the wall.

At least that was where he was supposed to sit. "Watch her, Benedict." He hissed as his son, who obediently slid over a bit as Father Tucker got up to stand by the Pastor. Madeline watched him and wondered what was going on. Once everyone was quiet and settled Father Tucker began to speak. "Brothers and sisters, I'm afraid I must apologize to you all. I have allowed sin into our congregation. I have brought a viper into our midst." There was a slight murmur as all the adults and even some of the children looked around confused. "Earlier this week Sheriff John Wilmer asked me if Sandra and I would take in a child. You all know John; he is a member of the Church of the Reformation, just up the road, a congregation with whom we have fellowshipped on more than one occasion. This child, he said, was the step-daughter of Paul Martins, who has recently gone to his reward while serving with out troops over in Afganistan, and who's mother Maisie Martins, may she rest in peace, was a long time member of the Church of the Reformation, a life-long sister in Christ, and a Titus 2 mentor to my own beloved Sandra. Little was known of the child's mother, she had married Paul while he was in the wilderness, attending a university up in Boston." This brought more rumbles.

"On hearing the news of Paul's death she chose to return to that place and to whatever she had there, which was, to the best of everyone's knowledge, not family. We were unable to find any family for this woman. But she was the victim of Billy Meyers' battle with the bottle. And her child was left an orphan. Sheriff Wilmer asked if Sandra and I would take the child in, and we said yes, it would be an honor to perform this duty before the Lord." Now he was starting to tear up, just a bit. "We had no reason to believe she was anything less than an innocent, untrained and untaught in the ways of the Lord. And so we took her in, to train her up in the ways of the righteous."

Me, Madeline thought, finally. The viper he's talking about is me.

"Only today, when she was confronted by our Pastor and his God-given wisdom did we discover the truth. That her heart is hardened, that her spirit set like stone, even at such a young age. 'I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me.' before me, and before the Pastor, she denied God. She denied the very existence of God. She committed the one, unpardonable sin, over and over again!" The congregation gasped, and most of them turned to look at her, including Becky, who had gone utterly white.

"Lord, please forgive me for bringing this child into this congregation and exposing all of us to sin and damnation. And please protect us all and strengthen us against this attack from your nemesis." There were murmured cries of 'Amen!' from the congregation. "I consulted my beloved wife, and our Pastor here, and together he and I consulted via phone with Pastor Dan Green, who advised me on taking in the child, and who has now advised me to stay the course." This brought more shocked murmurs. "I gave my word as a man and a Christian, and we are commanded to care for the widow and orphan, even though they sin. But I must advise you all now, do not fellowship with her, do not allow your children to fellowship with her, and have nothing to do with her. We will feed her and clothe her and keep a roof over her head and perhaps, through careful training she may grow to no longer be a threat to the people of the greater Church but there is no need to expose yourselves to her sin. This burden rests on me and on my wife, and no one else. Pray for us, please."

At that Father Tucker came back to his seat, his head bowed. Pastor Mike had everyone stand and they began to pray. Madeline stood too, utterly confused. They believed it, she realized, they believed the myth was real. And now they're mad at me because I told them the truth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

On the bus back home Father Tucker made her sit in the seat in the front, all by herself.

When they got home, as they were taking off shoes and coats she whispered to Becky. "What's going on? I don't understand."

"Don't talk to me, atheist." Becky shot back, and then she moved away.

"Everyone to the table." Father Tucker was calling. "Right now." Madeline headed down to her seat, but Father Tucker stopped her. He made her stand at the head of the table beside him, holding her arm extra tight. "What I said at the church applies to all of you as well. You are no longer to speak to Maddy or have anything to do with her unless under my direct and specific instruction. If I'm not here it will fall on your mother, and then on Benedict, if need be. She will no longer break bread with us. Beatrice," the biggest girl stood up. "Tonight put Bernadette back in Becky's bed. We'll set up a floor bed for Maddy. If she breaks any of the rules be certain to tell me as soon as possible. And I won't have any of you sharing a bathroom with her; we already know she's using that as a path to sin. She can be the last one in in the morning, and if she's late no breakfast. You can watch the baby in the evening while your mother supervises her bath."

"Yes Sir." Beatrice sat back down.

"All right then. Girls, go cook supper."

As the girls got up to cook or mind the little ones, and the boys went to play, Mother Tucker approached Father. "I will keep training her, Bob." She said, "And I don't see why she can't do the chores, but I would rather not have her cooking. Who knows what she could do to the food."

"I understand." Father Tucker turned, but then Benedict was right there.

"May I speak, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'm concerned about Anna, sir, and what her family will say. This atheist has already tried to lead even you into sin."

"You are a strong, goodly, God-fearing young man. They know they have nothing to fear. And no one expects an atheist to care about staying pure anyway; the sins of lust mean nothing to them. No one will hold her behavior against you. And by not letting your sister be alone with her, neither will Joshua Barnes." He must be the intern they keep talking about, Madeline thought, the one they hope will marry Beatrice.

"Come here Maddy." Father Tucker all but dragged her into the big kitchen, the industrial one behind the 'pretty' one in the main hall, where most of the cooking was done. He pulled a stool over to the corner of the counter and sat her on it. "From now on, during the day when you are not doing chores I expect to find you here. You'll be doing the laundry and the dishes so that the other girls can have the education they are entitled to."

"All…all of it?" Madeline's eyes went wide. There were four to six big loads to drag up and down two flights of stairs every day, as well as three meals and one set of baked goods for twenty people cooked every day. It was a massive amount of work, even for the three or four girls who usually did it together.

"Silence! And you will keep the kitchens and bathrooms clean, and the floors as well, and keep up the dusting. Since you are not and will never be a sister in Christ you earn no credit with me, you will earn your keep. Now you will eat your meals here and then do the dishes here, so the other children don't have to look upon you. And you will continue to follow the rules you have learned here or be chastised as usual."

"Yes, Sir." Madeline watched him leave the room. They really didn't like the truth here, did they? Well, at least it was quieter in here. Eventually Mother Tucker came in with a plate of two chicken legs, some broccoli, a biscuit and a glass of milk for her supper, roast chicken being the Sunday night special, and left without saying a word. At least supper was good, she thought, tonight I won't be so hungry.

After supper she washed her way through the mound of dishes, standing on an upturned milk crate to reach the higher sink. Then she sat as the other children had ice cream and watched a movie in the other room. She really was Sara Crewe, she realized, only this wasn't London and there was no one with a diamond-mine to save her. She didn't even have a Becky to imagine things with. But she could invent one, or better still, she could invent a Mommy and Daddy of her own. They would be smart, she thought, and not believe myths were real. And they would have a library of their own, a whole room set aside for books and she could read any book she wanted, and if they didn't have it they lived close to the biggest library in the world and would gladly take her there. And her Mommy would make her pretty dresses to wear and help her plant a garden like Mary's secret garden, and take her to museums like the really cool ones back in Boston. And her Daddy would make her a doll house, no a doll _castle_ where she could play out all kinds of things where the princess would always be rescued. Granted that was kind of a little kid thing, but she'd always wanted one. They might even have a dog to run and play with. She'd have her own room with a big feather bed, whatever that was, and a blanket with big roses printed on it. Her room would smell like roses too, all the time. And she could go to school and learn all she wanted, anything at all! And her parents would be the coolest because they'd want to go to school and learn all the time too, just because it was fun.

Madeline sighed over this fantasy as she scrubbed the pots and pans. Eventually Mother Tucker came and waited for her to follow her upstairs. Once there she waited just outside the curtain while Madeline took a quick, much needed shower and then brushed her teeth. Then she thought they were going to go back to the bedroom, but instead Mother Tucker led her to Father Tucker's office. "Wuh…what did I do?" No one said anything about chastisement today, Madeline thought, what did I do now?

"For deceiving us." Mother Tucker knocked, then opened the door and pointed to the dreaded couch.

------

When it was over Mother Tucker led the sobbing Madeline back to the girl's bedroom. Madeline headed for her usual spot, but Mother Tucker stopped her. "No, I won't have you leading my good girls into sin. You sleep there now." She pointed to a child's mattress that had been set up on the floor, just inside the door. It was made up with sheets and a blanket and a pillow, but all Madeline could think of was a dog's bed.

"Yes, Ma'am." was all she could say, as she curled up on the mattress. A moment later Mother Tucker turned off the light.

------

Madeline had no clue how long she slept. But she woke up when someone touched her on the leg, and then covered her mouth so she couldn't say anything. Whoever it was hissed a 'shhhh' right in her ear, and then half dragged her out into the hallway.

There was just enough light for her to see that it was Benedict. "Don't make a sound." He said, "Or I'll tell them all you were tempting me." And then I'll get beaten, she thought, and nodded. He uncovered her mouth and dragged her toward the stairs and down.

When they reached the stairs to the basement she reversed gears and tugged back. "Where are we going?" She hissed at him.

"Be quiet, you little brat." He hissed back, and pulled her forward, nearly knocking her to her knees. "You heard Father, no one cares about the purity of an atheist, they don't even care themselves. So stop lying and pretending that you do."

What? Madeline wondered, as he dragged her to the storeroom and pushed her in ahead of him.

------

Sometime later Madeline crawled back onto her mattress. Her jaw hurt, her throat was on fire, and she wanted to vomit if she at all could. But the worst part was how dirty she felt. I can still smell him, she thought, he's all over me. I just wish I could scrub and scrub and scrub until I can't feel him anymore. Why? She cried out with all her heart. What did I do? I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't do anything wrong!

She lay there quietly sobbing, and thought about the family she had made up. My Daddy will be strong, she thought, and he'll love me more than anything. And he'll take me far away from here and keep me safe. He'll make them leave me alone. He'll never let me be hurt again, ever. Ever! I want my Mommy and Daddy! I want my Mommy and Daddy!

She imagined them as she cried herself to sleep.

------

The next morning when the other girls were done in the bathroom she approached Mother Tucker. "May I speak?" The older woman gave her a curt nod. "May I take a shower this morning? I don't mind missing breakfast."

"Why? You took one last night."

"Yes, but…" Mom always said to tell, she thought, if someone touched you wrong. Tell her or tell Paul or tell a teacher, tell someone in authority, but always tell. Mother and Father Tucker are in authority here, so I ought to tell. "Last night Benedict got me out of bed and…" She started tell Mother Tucker what happened in the basement, but before she got to the worst of it all of a sudden Mother Tucker slapped her, hard!

"How dare you! How dare you make up your lies! That will be ten for lying and ten for trying to turn my heart against my son! Now hurry up in there!" She pushed Madeline into the bathroom and shut the door.

Nobody cares, Madeline thought, as she at least brushed the hideous taste from her mouth. No one cares about me at all. I wish I had a Daddy who could make all this go away. I wish I had a Mommy who loved me.

She ate her oatmeal and drank her milk at the kitchen counter, and wondered why she bothered. If I stopped eating, she thought, maybe sooner or later I could just drift away. Then they could go back to their life. They don't care about me, they wouldn't miss me. Maybe if I drifted away I could find the Mommy and Daddy I wish I had. Maybe.

After breakfast she climbed up on the milk crate and started in on the dishes, but she didn't get very far before the doorbell rang. From where she was standing she could look through the open doorway into the 'nice kitchen' and see through to the main hall and the front door. She watched as Mother Tucker answered the door. "Yes."

"Hello. I'm Joshua Barnes." Said a calm, quiet voice, barely heard over the still whirling souls, "I'm looking for the Tucker residence?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Barnes. Come in! Come in!" Mother Tucker all but cooed. "Children! Come line up to be introduced! Benny, go get your father" Madeline looked over again, out of curiosity more than anything else. This must be the intern that Becky was talking about, the one they were hoping would marry Beatrice. She didn't go line up in the stair step formation with the others, she knew no one would want to introduce her to someone so special.

Through the open doorway the young man in question could finally be seen. He was tall, really tall. A head taller than Father Tucker, who came down to introduce himself right after Benny pushed his way into the line. But unlike the others he was skinny, skinnier than any man she had ever seen. He'd disappear if he turned sideways, she thought, and then he did and almost did. But then he turned the other way, and she could see his features. He's fine boned, like me, she thought. And even though his hair is a much lighter brown it's curly, like mine. He looks more like he could be my family than any of the others.

She went back to the scrubbing, only sometimes looking over as the introductions were made, catching Beatrice posing and preening for the young man. He's not that impressed, Madeline thought, she's going to have to work harder. Eventually they started showing him around the home.

"Thank you for letting me have this opportunity to learn from you, Sir." Joshua Barnes was saying as they walked in to the kitchen. "It's hard to really have a good example of Christian manhood when your nearest neighbor is a moose."

"Well, well, always willing to help a young man get a good, firm start. Spiritually speaking, that is. I know that you applied to work with Pastor Green, but his slots always fill up fast. I'm sure I can help you to a greater understanding as well as he can." Father Tucker was smiling. "So this is our larger scale kitchen. We usually use it when we have company. We can top out with forty people when the Greens show up!"

"Wow. That's highly impressive." Madeline watched the newcomer in the reflection off the steel cabinets. He was kind of looking from Mother to Father Tucker to Beatrice, and then at her, and back. He's waiting to be introduced she thought. They won't. And it doesn't matter; he's just another one of Them. Them, she suddenly realized, They have become a Them, and I'm a something Else. I wish I wasn't the only Else in the world.

She heard the back door open and close, and now all too familiar footsteps down the hall. "And this is our eldest, Benedict." Father Tucker was saying. Don't let him see me, Madeline thought as she felt her face and neck turn red. I still smell like him, don't let him see me, please. But there was no help for it; she was standing on a box in the middle of the kitchen where everyone could see. They'll know, she thought irrationally, they'll know how dirty he made me, how he messed me up. They'll all know. "You'll be rooming with Benedict. We try not to stay alone here, the better to be accountable and avoid temptation."

Or maybe he'll want to mess me up too, Madeline thought, just like Benedict did. She looked at the reflection and met the new man's eyes for a long moment. He knows, she thought, he knows everything. She ducked her head back to her pots, and tried not to wonder what that meant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

"Hi."

Two days after the new man showed up Madeline was down in the laundry room ironing shirts. All the big boys were going off to some conference in a few days, which meant no less than twenty-four shirts needed ironing, on top of the usual work for Sunday. So she was getting an early start, an idea which met Mother Tucker's very grudging approval. She was working away in the quiet damp of the laundry room when she heard the new man in the doorway. She looked up at his face, turned red and looked back down. He knows everything; she thought for the umpteenth time since he arrived, he knows everything everyone is thinking, and then some.

Madeline was dimly aware of him walking over to the work table, and of him putting a bag of laundry down. "We were never introduced. I'm Joshua Barnes. What's your name?"

"M…Madeline." She managed to stammer out.

"Madeline. Nice to meet you Madeline. How old are you?"

"Nine."

"Oh. I'm twenty two. Can you show me how to use the washing machine?" Madeline nodded and with as little words as possible showed him where to put the soap and what buttons to push for what kinds of clothes. "Thank you. Madeline. You know, everyone else's name here starts with a 'B', yours doesn't. Why is that?"

"I'm…I'm not one of Them" She replied.

"Them?"

The church, she thought. The community. Everyone in the entire world. "The family. I'm an orphan."

"Ah. So you're a foster kid then?" She shrugged. "Did a social worker put you here?"

"Nope. Sheriff Wilmer sent me here, after my Mom died."

"How did your Mom die?"

"Car accident. Her throat was cut open."

"Did you see it?" She nodded, and looked up at his face. He looks sad, she thought, and concerned, and like it matters. "That must have been horrible."

She shrugged. It had been, but it didn't seem real anymore. "We were going back to Boston, because Paul died."

"Who's Paul?"

"My step-father."

"How did he die?"

Madeline shrugged again. "He was in Afghanistan."

"Oh wow. Do you have any other family?" Madeline shook her head. "So you're all alone then?" She nodded. "I'm really very sorry you lost them. It must be a hard thing, to be all alone." He was silent for a while. "I should go back upstairs before They miss me."

"You're not supposed to talk to me." Madeline said finally.

"Why not?"

"I know that God's not real."

Joshua seemed to think about that a little. "And you told Them that?" Madeline nodded. "I bet that made Them real angry." She nodded harder. "Well, we won't tell Them we're talking then, okay?"

Madeline kind of looked up at him sideways. He doesn't want to tell Them something. Maybe, just maybe, he's not one of Them, not all the way. Maybe. "Okay."

"I'll come back in a little while to fold my clothes, we can talk some more."

"You're not supposed to fold clothes. That's a girl job. I'll do it."

"I don't think it will impugn my manhood to fold my own laundry." Madeline looked up at him again and saw that he was kind of smiling, so she decided it was okay to smile a little too.

------

Some time later he came back. She was folding everyone else's finished laundry. "So why aren't you doing schoolwork with the other kids upstairs."

Madeline shrugged again. "I tested through the tenth grade. Father Tucker said that was enough school. I need to learn to do chores now."

"Tenth grade? That's, like, high school. And you're nine, that's impressive. Did you go to high school around here?"

Madeline shook her head. "Nope. I worked with a tutor at school, in my special-ed class."

"Oh." They were quiet a moment. "What were you doing on the couch upstairs?"

"Church training."

"What's that?"

"I have to learn to sit still."

"Sounds like you weren't doing such a great job. I saw you rocking there. What's chastisement?" She didn't know how to answer that, didn't want to answer that, so she just shrugged and looked away. She saw his hands stop folding for a minute. "Look at me Madeline." She looked up at him, pointing her eyes at his forehead. "No, I mean look me in the eye." She tried, but she could only hold it for a moment before her head was buzzing and she had to look away. She went back to folding. A moment later he asked. "Were you in the special-ed class because you're autistic?" She nodded. "Oh, that explains it. How old were you when you started reading?"

"Mom used to say I wasn't two yet."

"Oh. Wow." They folded a few moments more. "So, you were almost finished with high school. What were you going to do next?"

"Mom said I could go to Harvard, because she had friends in Boston" She looked up at him sideways, but he didn't seem to be reacting to that, so she decided to keep going and see what he thought. "I was hoping we could go out to California when Paul came home, but then he died."

"That's too bad. Why California?"

"I wanted to go to CalTech and study math and physics first. Then go to Harvard and study Classics. But I can do it the other way around." She sighed. "Could have done it the other way around."

"I've heard those are good schools. Math, huh. What's the square root of four hundred and eighty four?'

She thought a moment. "22"

"What's the logarithm of 100?"

"2"

"What's the derivative of displacement?"

"Velocity, or displacement or movement over time"

"What's the derivative of velocity?"

"Acceleration, or displacement or movement over time over time." Madeline kind of looked up at Joshua again. He was smiling. Really smiling this time.

"What is the function behind the mathematical concept of E?"

" F times X equals E to the power of X at the point when X equals zero is equal to…to…" She had it. She knew it once. It was the coolest thing. "…I forget. My head hurts."

"One. And that's all right, you really are pretty smart."

"Thanks. So are you."

His pile of laundry was folded, so he stacked it all in a basket. "I should get back upstairs."

Don't go, Madeline thought, stay here. I feel safe with you here. "Joshua?" He stopped at the doorway and turned back. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being sorry about Mom and Paul. You're the only one who is."

------

Later that night Mother Tucker led her back to Father Tucker's office. She'd received five during church training, and five more for breaking a plate while doing dishes. Her backside and thighs were so sore and bruised that Father Tucker said he would spare her, and told her to lower her nightgown in the back instead so he could beat her shoulders. This felt impossibly worse; it felt like he was beating her right on the bones.

Right in the middle of this, of course, Joshua Barnes walked in. "I'm sorry." He said to Father Tucker, "I knocked but you didn't hear. I didn't know what was going on. I wanted to ask you about your notes on Pastor Green's report on the Ninth Circuit Court."

"Just give me a moment. I need to finish chastising this child so she can go to bed." Madeline screamed as four more blows fell, far more quickly than the others. That almost made it easier. "Go on now." She pulled up her nightgown and tried to do the button with trembling fingers. Her cheeks were burning, she hadn't wanted Joshua to see what they were doing, how bad they thought she was. Now he'll know, she thought, now he'll know.

She stopped at the doorway. "Thh…thank you for chhh…chastising me, Ssss…sir." But she was looking past Father Tucker, at Joshua's face. For a moment, there was utter cold hate in the younger man's eyes, as he looked at the elder.

"Go to bed."

Madeline took the hint, and ran.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter eight**

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

The next day Madeline was back in the basement, ironing the rest of the shirts. She heard someone come in, but didn't look up to see who it was until he crouched down in front of her. "Hey." She looked over into Joshua Barnes' concerned face. "I wanted to see if you were okay. You looked pretty badly hurt last night."

Madeline shrugged. She hurt all right. Her back felt raw where her clothing rubbed and it hurt to walk, to move, especially to sit. She was still hungry most of the time, and her stomach kept cramping off and on. And her throat, she didn't even want to think about that part at all. But there wasn't really anything she could do about it, about any of it. "I'm getting kinda used to it."

'That's what I'm afraid of." He stood, then and leaned back against the work table. "You know, you didn't deserve that, right?"

She shrugged again. "I couldn't help it. They just don't believe that."

"I know. I just wanted to be sure you did too."

"I know." She sighed. "I just wish I wasn't so different."

"I think being different is a good and valuable thing."

"No one else thinks so."

"I bet your Mom and Paul thought so."

She thought about it a moment and shook her head. "No. They thought I was funny and weird and wanted me to be normal too. They just didn't hit."

------

Later that night Madeline was woken again. With one hand over her mouth Benedict dragged her out of the girl's room. "Keep your mouth shut! If you wake anyone up I'll tell Dad you came after me and he'll beat you until you bleed."

Madeline kept quiet. She believed him.

Benedict picked up the laptop he'd left on the floor and pushed her toward the stairs.

------

"What happened with Benedict last night?"

Madeline looked up from where she was sorting through the baby things in the baskets on the floor. Joshua had crouched down next to her, his face full of worry and concern. "How did you know?" She whispered.

"I know you're afraid of him, even more than Father Tucker. I saw that on my first day here. And I know that you're embarrassed about it too. And I know he was missing last night and I saw the way he looked at you this morning, and the way you looked at him." If it was at all possible, Madeline swore his voice became even kinder. "Tell me what happened."

"You won't believe me."

"I've believed you so far."

Madeline slipped to her knees on the cold, concrete floor and started rocking back and forth. Slowly, haltingly, she told him everything.

Joshua knelt down next to her, and listened to the whole thing. "I am so, so sorry that happened to you. It's not your fault, at all."

"But why? Why are they doing these things to me?"

"I don't know."

Madeline kind of thought that he did. But that didn't matter much at all. She was trying not to cry, because it made her throat hurt more when she did. "I wish…I wish…"

"What do you wish?"

"I wish I had a Mommy and a Daddy. I wish I could go home. I wish I had a home."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. If I had a Daddy he would come and get me, and he'd make Father Tucker and Benedict go away so they couldn't hurt anyone. He might even beat them up first. But, mostly, I like to think he'd bring me home. And then he and Mommy would love me forever, even though I'm not normal."

"I bet that's a nice thing to think about. I know one thing."

"What?"

"Everything is going to get better. Really soon."

"I don't think so."

"You said that Benedict made a movie last night?"

Madeline nodded, despondent. "He said that he was going to show all the big boys at the conference tomorrow that girls who don't believe in God really are…bad like that." She couldn't use the words he did, she just couldn't.

"You're not bad. You're not bad at all. You're just a little girl, who deserves a good home, and a Mommy and Daddy. Remember that. " Madeline nodded. "You said he put it on his computer?" She nodded again. "Okay, I have to go. Everything is going to get better from now on."

"Promise?"

"I promise.'

Madeline just breathed for a long moment. "Do you think it's a sin to hug someone?"

"Not at all."

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around her one and only friend. For a long moment, he hugged her back.

------

Joshua Barnes came up the stairs, pulled back as three children threatened to topple him over, and was immediately hailed by Father Tucker. "Everything all right there Joshua?"

"Oh, yes sir. I was just looking for a highlighter in the storeroom, mine seems to have died."

"Hope you found them all right."

"I did, Sir, thank you."

"Good, good. Benedict and I have to run out to one of my properties to check on a water leak, want to come along?"

"I'd love to, Sir, but I need to make sure I have all my notes together before we leave in the morning."

"I only wish I could go with you boys, but I have a meeting here. I'll be along the day after tomorrow. We'll go over the schedule after supper."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you." Joshua bowed slightly and headed upstairs.

From the window of the room he was sharing with Benedict he watched them pull away down the road. Immediately he went looking, and found Benedict's laptop under the bed. Popping it open he found that it was only in sleep mode, and the password had not been engaged. It only took him a moment to find the video that broke his heart.

He dug in his pocket, pulled out a thumb drive and put it in the correct slot. After a moment the computer logged in to the net, and began to work. As he expected, a moment later a chat window opened. He smiled, the first genuine smile he'd felt since he arrived here.

"Hey Garcia, it's Reid" he typed in the long combination of letters and numbers that she could use to confirm that he still had control of the thumb drive. "Tell Hotch and McAdams that I have a plan."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

**Six weeks earlier.**

"As you all know, a terrorist group calling themselves the Sons of Liberty have claimed responsibility for a number of bombings over the past two years." Agent Daniel McAdams of the Anti-Terrorism taskforce put an image of a burning car up on the screen. "Last night they made another attempt on the Supreme Court. The car was a decoy, but the driver was killed."

"Damn," Morgan sat back in his chair. "But why come all the way out here to tell us this, we already gave you the profile over a year ago."

"Yes and self-styled Pastor Dan Green is still our number one suspect as the ring leader. We think that his home church network is what links the terrorist cells. But we haven't been able to find any evidence that would stand up in court. As you know Green used to be a federal defense attorney. He has all the angles covered."

"That doesn't surprise me." Hotch muttered as he looked over the file. "I went up against him a few times. He was always a challenge."

"We've been trying to get someone on the inside, undercover, in the hopes that they could tap into whatever intranet they might be using to communicate. If we can get a hold of their computer network we can prove that they're an organized, deliberate group and bring them all down from the head."

"Why not try a good hacker?" Garcia wanted to know.

"Because they rarely use the internet. They have meetings in various parts of the country every four to six weeks, always under the guise of a church conference or retreat, where they set up a local network. Every time we try to get access we're violating civil rights, harassing good Christians, and invading a church. Our hope was to get someone on the inside who could find us what we need."

"How were you hoping to get someone inside?" Morgan took a turn at the pile of files.

"Through their intern program," McAdams' put up another graphic. "Every year Green brings home six young men to learn 'godly manhood' by example, basically by being his personal assistants for six months. In addition each of his seconds brings in one or two at a time." McAdams smiled. "This also gives them a chance to try to marry off a daughter or two, if they're lucky. Now Green hand-picks his, only from families he already knows personally, but sometimes the seconds will bring in a young man they only know through correspondence."

"It's a worthwhile shot. But again, what does this have to do with the BAU?" Morgan kept coming back to that.

'This year one of the seconds, Bob Tucker from rural Arkansas, has invited an intern from Alaska." McAdams started putting pictures up on the screen; "Joshua Barnes, 22, from north of Juneau. Last week Barnes was arrested for drug possession. He has no living family." He put three pictures up on the screen, each a head shot of a Caucasian man with brown, curly hair in big sunglasses. "We obtained access to his online accounts; these are the only pictures he's sent to Tucker."

"Okay. Same question."

"According to the DMV Joshua Barnes is white, light brown hair, brown eyes, six foot two and 125 pounds." McAdams took a deep breath. "There is only one agent currently in the FBI who fits that description."

Every head in the room turned to look at Spencer Reid.

He'd been looking at the file and not fully paying attention. Now everyone was looking at him, it was remarkably disconcerting. "What?" It took him a moment to review what had been entering his ears while he was reading.

Morgan grinned at him. "You are officially the tallest, skinniest boy in the FBI."

"Not only that." McAdams had to point out, "But you also have experience going undercover with religious cults."

"You mean Benjamin Cyrus." Spencer realized, "Where I almost lost my partner."

"Ah, no," Emily spoke up. "Your partner volunteered, remember."

Spencer shrugged. That wasn't the point. He wasn't good at undercover was the point. But there was something else about this that was making him seriously consider it.

"This is strictly voluntary, of course. It could be up to six months, but that's unlikely. We're realistically looking at a six week to three month timeline" McAdams kept going. "We know you're married and that your wife might… need assistance while you're gone."

"Careful." Rossi muttered, knowing that was a tender spot; and not only with Reid.

"We have the budget to provide an around the clock bodyguard or...assistant, if need be." McAdams finished.

Spencer nodded. "Let me discuss it with the team and my wife and I'll let you know by the end of the day."

"All right, thank you."

------

After the meeting Morgan sat down on Spencer's desk. "You think Gwen will let you go?"

Spencer settled back in his chair and gave voice to what was pulling him toward the 'Yes' side of the equation. "Most of Green's acolytes believe that there is no such thing as a medical diagnosis of autistic spectrum disorders. They think that the diagnosis is just the social welfare system trying to break into good Christian families and indoctrinate the children with socialistic beliefs and the physical symptoms are just willful bad behavior on the part of the child. They prefer to try to treat the physical symptoms with corporal punishment. She's already testified as an expert witness in a few abuse trials in the more rural parts of the state." Spencer chuckled. "If we can discredit his beliefs and drive him out of the public discourse I'm onboard. I think she'll send the task force cookies just for trying. Besides, I plan to take McAdams up on his offer of a full time bodyguard."

"Why, she doesn't need guards anymore. Or a home health aid, for that matter. We can help her out if she needs a ride somewhere." Gwen had come a long, way, he knew, and could handle just about anything on her own. But his little sister would never be driving friendly.

"I know. I'm going to suggest that they go in undercover as a landscaping crew."

That set Morgan laughing. "You just don't want to build and double dig those vegetable beds she wants."

"Not all twelve, no."

**Patrick Henry Conference on Public Policy**

**Adolphus Hotel**

**Dallas, TX**

**Current time**

Just as Pastor Green was warming into his speech on how the bible supposedly influenced the founding fathers the doors to the conference hall burst open. In moments the fifty or so young men in the room were surrounded by armed police and FBI telling them to put their hands in the air. With rifles being waved about of course they all complied.

Pastor Green, however, was laughing. "Well, well, Mr. Hotchner. Oh, wait, its Agent Hotchner now, with the FBI, right? You know; the last time I checked it's not yet a federal crime to discuss how biblical principals and Christian values can be applied to public policy."

"No, it's not." Hotch replied as he holstered his sidearm. He walked over to Benedict Tucker, turned his laptop around, and pulled up the video in question. "But transporting child pornography over state lines _is_ a federal crime." Hotch looked over at the highest ranking officer in the room, "I want all of these men arrested for conspiracy to distribute child pornography, and all of these computers confiscated. Now!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**Adolphus Hotel**

**Dallas, TX**

"You need to take me off this case, Hotch." Spencer had cornered his boss in a hallway outside the conference room, from which both men and machines were being removed and processed. He hadn't felt this much sheer anger in a long, long time. It was all he could do not to go find that sanctimonious little shit Benedict Tucker and beat him senseless. I am not a violent man, he thought, but this case may be the one that changes that.

"Why?" Hotch had been helping McAdams keep everything moving in an orderly fashion, but when Reid approached him his instincts went off. There was a certain energy about the younger man, something more suited to Morgan than their resident scientist. Something has changed since he left to go undercover, Hotch thought, I don't have time to detail it, but if he were an unsub I'd want to go back over the entire profile. It's different now

"Because my objectivity has gone out the nearest window." Spencer took a deep breath and raked his hair out of his eyes. "And I'm about to create a massive conflict of interest."

"How?"

Spencer told him.

Hotch considered what he was told. Without realizing it, Spencer had just explained the changes and updated his profile. "They can't prove conflict of interest until you file the paperwork. Until then don't say anything to anyone, this stays between us."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want you on this case. You and Morgan head back to the Tucker home, arrest the adults and confiscate the computers."

"Hotch, you know you're putting this entire case out on a line here. I mean, Morgan can make the arrest. Realistically I don't have to be there."

Hotch looked at Spencer, and remembered pulling Jack out of the window seat that horrible nightmare of a day. "Yes, you do. You make the arrest on Bob Tucker, no one else. And Spencer," The younger man turned as he was walking off, and Hotch smiled at him, "Enjoy the ride."

Spencer turned and smiled a little as he headed toward the door. On the way he met up with Morgan who gave him back his satchel, which held the little, important things; his badge, gun, pictures, chess set…wedding ring. The first thing he went for was the wedding ring that he had missed.

"So what's the plan?" Morgan wanted to know. Then he took another look at his friend, "What's different about you?"

"I'll explain later."

**Tucker home**

**Polk County, Arkansas**

Once again Madeline was standing over a vast pile of dishes. She was loading the glasses into the dishwasher when Father Tucker came up beside her. "Mother Tucker told me what you tried to do the other day."

"S…s...sir?"

"How you tried to turn her against our son. I ought to beat your hide off your back for that little trick. You're just lucky Mother Tucker is the merciful type. Don't you ever dare try to turn us against our children again."

"Yes, s...sir." No one is going to help me, she realized, no one. Even Joshua didn't, or couldn't, or was just lying to laugh. I wish I had a daddy, she thought as she sighed over her dishes again.

"What are you thinking?" Father Tucker hadn't left the room; he was getting something out of the freezer.

"Nu…nothing, Sir." He wouldn't like it if he knew I was wishing for a family, not one bit. I can't tell him, I can't.

"Don't you lie to me, child." Father Tucker growled right by her ear. "The Lord said to honor thy father and thy mother, now do not lie to your father."

Something inside Madeline snapped just at that moment. "You're not my father!" She turned to him and screamed. "Fathers make sure their kids have dinner! And go to school! And the other kids don't hurt them! And they don't hit! Ever!" By now she'd reached the top, shrieking volume of a nine year old on full boil. "You are not my father!"

Father Tucker's response to that was to slap her across the face, hard enough to knock her from the milk crate and send her sprawling across the floor. "How dare you raise your voice to me! How dare you!"

The fall knocked all the wind out of Madeline's lungs, and when her head hit the floor she literally saw sparking lights. It's true, she thought, it's true. Father Tucker pulled off his belt, doubled in, and began raining down blows, punctuating every word. "You selfish, spoiled, unbelieving, lying, disobedient, hateful…" All Madeline could do was wrap her arms around her head to protect it from the blows as she screamed and screamed.

"Stop it!"

The rain of blows stopped. Madeline managed to open her eyes and look up to see Joshua pulling Father Tucker back and throwing him against the wall, holding him there. Father Tucker's eyes were wild and crazy looking, but Joshua just looked mad as anything. He pinned Father Tucker against the wall, then grabbed him and threw him face down on the counter before leaning in to him again. Then he was pulling handcuffs from his pocket. Handcuffs!

"Robert Tucker, you're under arrest." Madeline could hear the handcuffs clicking around Father Tucker's wrists.

"On what grounds? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Special Agent Reid of the FBI, and you're under arrest for…" for a moment Joshua looked right into Madeline's eyes, "…beating a child. Let's go." He pulled Father Tucker up and pushed him at another man.

Oh, Madeline thought, oh. Before she could finish that the blackness came up and swallowed her.

------

We don't want another Ruby Ridge, they said. We don't want another Waco.

There won't be, Spencer had been able to reassure them. Tucker is scheduled to be in his office on a conference call. With the older boys in Texas he's the only one with access to any firearms in the house. Once we get him the rest will be crowd control.

What will you use for cover, they asked, to keep from scaring the children before you gain control of the father?

They provide their own distraction, Spencer had replied.

He and Morgan had stood on either side of the back door, while the rest of the force hid in the bushes and behind the outbuildings. No one had noticed their approach; the house was too full of the sound of screaming, laughing, running children for anyone to hear an approaching vehicle. Then Spencer used the key they had so thoughtfully given to 'Joshua' to let them in to the house.

Of course as soon as the door closed behind them Garcia whispered in their ears. "He just excused himself from the call."

The two agents slipped into the deep shadow under the stairs as Tucker came down and headed for the kitchen, then they ducked around to the closet opposite, the goal being to follow him up and have the confrontation in his office, away from the children, and before anyone could alert him from Texas and he could destroy the computers. Once they had him in cuffs Spencer would go down, find the older girls to control the children, and open the doors. If any of the children encountered them before that 'Joshua' would say that he brought a friend home from Texas to meet Mr. Tucker.

This plan lasted right up until Madeline started screaming in the kitchen.

At the first sound of leather on skin all bets were off. He reacted rather than thought, hauled Tucker off the helpless girl, and had him in cuffs before Morgan had a thorough understanding of the situation. Thankfully, none of the children were allowed to play in the kitchen. Fear of atheist cooties or something, Spencer thought, might as well make that work for us.

As Morgan escorted Tucker outside Spencer bent over Madeline's unconscious body. One side of her face was already starting to swell; she'd have one serious black eye there soon. But when he, ever so gently, opened her eyes her pupils contracted evenly. There was no concussion, thank goodness.

"Joshua." He heard a voice behind him, turned to find Beatrice looking at him. "What's going on? Who are all those people outside?"

"Beatrice, I need you to get all the children and sit them down at the table, right now."

"But, Joshua."

"Do as I tell you. Go." It galled him to order anyone around like that; it was totally against his nature. But these families trained their children to an almost military discipline, and right now using that would keep them all safe. Within moments Beatrice had everyone sitting in their spots at the table, and all the children were under control.

"What is going on here?" Sandra Tucker came down from breastfeeding the baby just as Morgan came in, followed by two other agents.

"We're with the FBI, Ma'am. Your husband has been arrested on the grounds of kidnapping, assault, and conspiracy to produce and promote child pornography. Would you please give the baby to this agent and come with me?"

"What?" Mother Tucker looked hopelessly confused as one of the agents lifted the baby out of her arms and took her out to a waiting ambulance. "What about my children?"

"Child Protective Services is here to take custody of the children." Morgan said as he turned her around and handcuffed her. "We don't believe your eldest daughter was involved in any way, and so she's free to assist them. Once they've been checked out at the hospital they will be turned over to her custody and they will contact your relatives and see if any of them can come out to help as well. Now please go quietly with these officers, there's no need to scare the children." Once Mother Tucker was escorted from the room he looked over at Spencer. "Everything okay?"

Spencer had been trying to get Madeline to open her eyes, and finally succeeded. "Shhh, it's okay. You don't have to sit up yet."

"J…J...Joshua." She managed to get out in a whisper. "W...what h…happened?"

"We made him stop. I'm going to take you home." He watched the look of confused, wary happiness come into her eyes. "Think you can get your arms around my neck?"

"Mmm-hmm" Madeline hurt, an all over kind of hurt. Her face and head were the worst; they were a giant mass of a _throbbing_ kind of hurt and she almost couldn't open one eye and she thought she had a loose tooth. But Joshua was there, and Father Tucker wasn't, and somehow she knew it was going to be all right. She managed to wrap her arms around his neck, and hung on as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out into the sunlight.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter eleven**

**Mena Regional Hospital**

**Mena, Arkansas**

On the ambulance ride to the hospital the ambulance men kept poking and prodding at her. It wasn't so bad, but Madeline wished they would leave her sore eye alone. And that it wasn't so bumpy, every bump nudged a bruise on her back.

At one point Joshua reached over and tapped her on the shoulder. He kind of crouched down beside the bed she was on, right next to her head. "Hey, Madeline, what's the funniest thing that happened when you were with the Tuckers?"

She thought through the headache for a moment. "They had this book, they called it a science book, and it said that people lived with dinosaurs and that the T-rex was a vegetarian and ow!" She looked over to where the ambulance man had been doing something to her arm, where she had just felt a sharp, little bite. Now there was a tube hanging out of her arm that ran up to a bag of water, and he was just taping it into place. He must have given me a shot or something, she thought. "That hurt."

"Sorry, sweetheart." The ambulance man said, as he went back to his notes.

Madeline looked over at her friend, the only sure thing she had going right now. "Joshua, where are we going?"

"To the hospital." Spencer considered correcting her, but rather thought this might be a bad time to find out that she'd been lied to. "They need to make sure you're not too badly hurt."

"Right now the only thing that really hurts is my face." Since she couldn't poke at it with her fingers she poked at the swollen part from the inside with her tongue. "Hey, I have a loose tooth." She checked again. "I have two!"

"Uhhhh" Spencer blinked and turned to the paramedic. "Should I worry about that? Is she going to need them re-implanted or some kind of dental work?"

The paramedic looked over at Madeline "Ever lose any teeth on that side, sweetie?"

Madeline shook her head, just a little. "No. I lost my front teeth, but not those yet. Mom left me a dollar each, and said it was from the tooth fairy"

The paramedic chuckled and turned back to Spencer. "There ya go. Baby teeth have to come out sometime. You even got the going rate."

"Thank you." Spencer turned back to Madeline and smiled. "Just don't swallow them, okay?"

She nodded. "When we get to the hospital, will you stay with me?"

"Sure."

------

Madeline had to admit, a hospital was a very scary place. But just knowing that Joshua was standing over by the door of the room watching everything somehow made it all better. If he could stop Father Tucker he could stop anything else. And every so often a policeman or woman would stick their head in the door and talk to him about something. I wonder….After the doctor went over to talk to him, and they all pretty much left she said, "Joshua?"

"Yes?" He came over and sat on the little stool, right beside the head of the bed.

"Are you really a policeman?"

"Actually I'm really FBI." He pulled a badge out of his pocket and handed it to her.

Madeline held it up and took a good look. It was heavy and shiny and had some kind of ID on it with his picture. "So you're name is really Spencer, not Joshua?"

"Yes, it is. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before. We had to keep it a secret."

"Why?"

"Because Mr. Tucker had to think I was Joshua or else he wouldn't have let me in the house."

"Oh. What's Behavioral Analysis?"

"That's when you try to figure out how the bad guys think, so you can get ahead of them and catch them before they hurt anyone else."

"Oh." She thought about that for a moment. "You always kinda looked like you knew what everyone was thinking."

"Not exactly, but you can get a pretty good idea from the way people act. Their body language, the look on their faces, that kind of thing."

"Is that how you knew about Benedict?"

"Yeah." He reached out and took his badge back. "Speaking of which, in a few minutes the doctor is going to come back in and look you over. We need to make sure Benedict didn't hurt you. I don't think you're going to like it very much."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"It might. I'm really sorry we have to."

"Will you stay with me?"

"I can't, its girls only. But a friend of mine named Emily is going to come in and she'll hold your hand the entire time. And I'll be right outside the door."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

------

Morgan walked around the clumps of children that had taken over the ER and over to his friend as soon as the door closed behind Spencer. "The good news is that the rest of the children look to be okay. She was the only one being abused." He frowned when he saw the look on his friend's face. "You don't look so good."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck and let out a deep breath. "I thought it was bad waiting for Gwen." This is impossible, he thought, out of all the evil I have seen having to run a rape kit on a nine year old is about the worst.

"I know. You don't have to stay with her you know. I know Hotch said to keep you on it but one of us can spell you out."

"No, I have to stay."

"No you don't, man."

"Yeah, I do." They both looked over as everyone cleared out of the room except the nurse, including Emily with the evidence bag. Spencer made sure to step into the doorway before it closed so Madeline could see that he was right there where he said he would be.

"So do you want the good news or the bad news?" Emily asked after she signed the bag off to another agent.

"I think we could both use some good news right now." Morgan replied.

"No vaginal or anal penetration. Not even evidence of contact. They didn't have to finish that portion of the kit."

Spencer let out a big, deep breath. He knew about the rest of it, he had seen it in that dammed video. "Did they do a throat culture?"

"Yes. It was too late to pick up any actual semen, but he left her with a nasty case of tonsillitis. Depending on the bacteria that's causing it, we might be able to connect it to Benedict Tucker. Otherwise she has some nasty bruising on her back, knees to shoulders, as well as fresh bruises on her ribs from the beating you witnessed. They took pictures of it all for evidence, put her on antibiotics and said they want to keep her on an IV overnight to ease any strain on her kidneys."

"That's all? Morgan said, "I expected worse."

"Kids bounce, at least physically. They said there were no broken bones and the black eye will heal over time."

Just then Spencer felt a touch at his elbow. He looked down at one of the children, a girl about Madeline's age. "Hi, Becky."

She nodded. "Joshua, can I go talk to Maddy?"

"You know, I think she prefers Madeline. She's in with the nurse right now, but when she's done I'll ask her."

"Thank you." She looked like she was going to say something else, but just then Beatrice came up behind her.

"Becky, go sit with the other girls. Right now." When Becky walked off, Beatrice turned her tear-stained face to Spencer. "Joshua, you have to help me. They're saying horrible things about my father and Benedict and even Mom and I am so scared."

"Beatrice, my name's not Joshua."

She looked shocked. "What."

"My name is Spencer Reid, I'm an agent with the FBI. I was working undercover."

"What? Where's Joshua?" A couple of the older girls, with little ones balanced on their hips had come up behind her.

"Sitting in a jail in Juneau doing ninety days for drug possession."

"What?" She started crying softly. "My parents are good people. My brother is a good man, he's supposed to get married in a few months. Why are you doing this to us?"

Even though she wasn't his target he was tired. Very tired. We coddle these people, he thought, we allow them to live in their perfect bubble while others take the hurt and clean up the mess they leave behind. We really need to stop doing that. "Your brother raped a little girl, Beatrice, and your parents knew about it and blamed _her_ and punished _her_ for it."

"She's lying!"

"No, the doctor just left her. She's telling the truth, he found proof."

"He's lying! You're lying too!"

"I know you need to believe that right now. I understand." He turned to go back into the room where Madeline was waiting. What is happening to me, he thought, is it supposed to happen like this?

"Wait." Beatrice grabbed his arm. "What's going to happen to me?"

"I don't know." Spencer sighed and went back into Madeline's room


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter twelve**

**Mena Regional Hospital**

**Mena, Arkansas**

They had changed Madeline into a hospital gown, and tucked her under a blanket. She looks remarkably small like that, Spencer thought. I am getting remarkably tired of dealing with girls in hospital rooms. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Madeline looked up and shrugged. "That was really icky and very embarassing. I'm glad Emily was here."

"Yeah, I'm glad when she's around too. You know, Becky said she wanted to talk to you. Do you want me to see if she can come in?"

Becky wanted to talk to her? She'd been so nasty after church that day. But maybe she just didn't want to get hit. "Sure."

"Be right back." Spencer went out to the waiting area where the children were thronging while the last of them were checked and found Beatrice. "Can Becky come in the back and talk to Madeline?"

Beatrice looked harried and exhausted by this nightmare of a day. "I don't care."

"Okay." He looked over the crowd of children until he found the right one. "Becky, want to come back?" She nodded and trailed after him.

Just as Spencer opened the door for Becky Morgan called for him. "I'll be right outside" he said.

Becky looked up at the girl who was her friend for a while. It looked like half her face was swollen and red, and she couldn't open one eye. "What happened?"

"Your dad hit me."

"Dad doesn't hit, he chastises and corrects."

"Call it what you want, it's still hitting."

Becky didn't know what to say to that. "Can I come up?" Madeline nodded and drew her legs up under her. Becky used the stepstool to climb up and sit on the bed facing her. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you."

"It's okay. I figure you didn't want to get hit too."

"Something like that. How can you not believe in God?"

"How can you believe in him?"

"I don't know, I just do."

"Same here. Why is it so wrong not to believe in him?"

"Because He said so."

"But if you don't believe he's real, why would it matter what he said?"

"I don't know. I don't understand it." Becky frowned. "Can we just be friends anyway and not talk about it?"

Madeline smiled. "It's okay with me if it's okay with you."

That got Becky to grin in return. "Are you coming home with us?"

"I don't think so. We'll have to ask Spencer. I hope not, I really don't like your house that much."

"Who's Spencer? And why don't you like our house?"

"That's Joshua's real name. And you have too many kids in one place."

"I don't think so. I like being part of a big family."

"I like being an only child." Madeline thought a moment. "We can disagree on that too."

"Okay."

Just then Spencer back in carrying a tray and holding two paper bags. "Lunch?" Both girls nodded eagerly. "Madeline, you get the sore throat special." He put the tray down on the bed table and lifted the covers. "Chicken noodle soup, applesauce, apple juice and it looks like rainbow sherbet. I asked about jell-o, but they were out for the day. Becky, you get a turkey sandwich with chips and apple juice." He passed the bag over, settled into his chair, and put his own lunch bag into his lap. "Your brothers and sisters are eating in the conference room."

"Thank you."

"Thank you." Becky looked over at Madeline. "Why do you have a sore throat?"

Spencer caught Madeline's eye and gave her a warning look. "She has strep."

Her family has trouble with the truth, Madeline remembered. Better not to tell her straight off.

"Oh. I've had that before." Becky nodded. "Are you a policeman?"

"FBI, actually," once again he passed over his badge for inspection.

"Can I ask you a question?" Madeline asked between spoonfuls of soup.

"Both of you can ask me whatever you want to ask me." Spock and Saavik, he thought, knowledge was the one thing she needed, and the one thing he had in abundance to give.

"Are you married?"

"Yes, I am."

Becky looked over at Madeline and giggled. "Poor Beatrice."

"Is she pretty?" Madeline asked after she'd giggled back as best as her throat would allow.

"I think she is."

Madeline watched Spencer reach into his bag and pull out a leather wallet. Inside were two pictures of a woman. In the first she had red hair and bright blue eyes and she was standing on a porch with a cup in her hands. In the second she had flowers in her hair and flowers in her hands, and she was looking up at Spencer and smiling. He had a flower on his jacket and was laughing and they both looked young. She kind of looks like me Madeline thought, kind of. But I don't have red hair. "She _is_ pretty. Where was this taken?" She pointed to the first picture.

"I took that right before I came out to the Tucker's house. That's our side porch, right after breakfast."

"What about this one?"

"That was our wedding day."

"Oh wow," she passed the pictures over to Becky so she could have a look. "What's her name?"

"Gwen. Well, Gwendolyn, but she likes to be called Gwen."

"Did you go to college?"

"Yes I did. CalTech actually, I went when I was twelve. So did Gwen."

"Really?" Madeline grinned. "Lucky." Spencer grinned and nodded back.

"That's too young to go to college." Becky insisted.

"No, it's not. It just doesn't happen that often. But I bet Madeline here will be going in a year or two."

"No." Becky shook her head. "Dad said she's had enough school. And Pastor Green doesn't even think girls really need to worry about high school, they just need to learn how to keep a house."

"Well, your Dad and Pastor Green don't make the rules for everyone." Spencer took a big bite of his sandwich and wished it was Green's jugular.

Madeline spoke up again. "Did you graduate?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have three doctorates in Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering from CalTech as well as undergraduate degrees in Psychology, Sociology from George Washington University and Philosophy from Georgetown. I'm working on my graduate degree in Psychology. She has three degrees in Mathematics, Chemistry and Physics, from CalTech and an undergraduate degree in Classics from Georgetown and she's studying Psychology at George Washington."

"Wow, that's a lot of school." Becky said. "Dad said people shouldn't go to the universities, they just teach evil and lies."

"No, they teach things your Dad disagrees with, mostly. But the most important thing is that they teach you to think for yourself."

"Why wouldn't my Dad want me to think for myself?"

"Because then you might disagree with him, and you might be right. I think he would find that scary."

"Oh."

Just then there was a tap on the door, and Emily stuck her head in. "State CPS is here and Hotch and Rossi are back. And we have a problem." She ducked back out.

Well, that was interesting. Spencer looked over at Becky. "I think you better go back with your family now. I'm sorry; I don't know when you two are going to see each other again."

"Maddy…Madeline's not coming back to our house?"

"No." Not on my life, he thought, not on my life.

"Oh."

Madeline smiled at her. "That's okay, we'll still be friends."

------

Spencer came out and met up with the team closer to the lobby. Standing with them was a middle-aged black woman with a tired, professional air. Hotch made the introductions. "Ms. Johnston, this is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, he was the agent undercover in the Tucker home. Reid, this is Sheila Johnston from Child Protective Services."

"Dr. Reid." She offered her hand. Spencer took it and wondered if she noticed the tripling of his heart rate. "I have a lot of questions to ask you."

"Of course, anything I can do to help. But there was a problem?" He looked from her to Hotch.

"Look outside." Hotch nodded around the corner.

Spencer stuck his head around and saw a mob of people forming out in front of the hospital, waving signs and apparently yelling. "What's going on?"

"Apparently we skipped Waco and Ruby Ridge and went straight to the YFZ Ranch." Rossi answered. "We're persecuting Christians for having different beliefs by taking their children away and arresting their pastors."

"Didn't we announce that they were arrested under child pornography charges?" Surely that would have quieted people, Spencer thought. And then he looked over his shoulder at Madeline's room, just as a nurse stepped in there.

Morgan shook his head; "According to Garcia two-thirds of the chatter on the net claims that we planted the evidence. The remaining third is saying that we planted the girl to seduce Tucker and his son."

The entire team was shocked by this. "They do realize she's a nine year old." Emily wanted to know.

"I guess they think that's old enough," was Morgan's only answer.

Spencer was about to say something about blaming the outsider to maintain the belief of the anointed and the perfect life and about attacking the powerless and the weak, but something was wrong. Something. Was. Wrong. Without a word he turned and strode back to Madeline's room, trailing the team in his wake.

He eased opened the door to find Madeline huddled in a little ball on the bed, while a nurse did something with her IV. "…just stop lying you little vixen! How dare you take down that great man?"

"I'm..I'm n…n…not lying! I d…didn't d…do anything!"

"Hey!" Spencer yelled, then pushed the nurse out of the way and pinched the IV tube, hard. "Someone check her."

The nurse glared at the team as Emily patted her pockets. She pulled a tube of something and a hypodermic needle out of the woman's pocket and squinted a bit at the label, "Heparin."

Spencer immediately slid the IV catheter out of Madeline's arm and used a tissue from a nearby box to put pressure on the tiny hole. "Did she put a needle into any part of this at all?"

Madeline, who was picking up that Something Bad Happened, felt her mouth slip out of gear, and just shook her head no.

"Okay, hold that tight." He bent her arm up and looked over at Emily. "Is the label dark blue or light blue?"

"Dark."

"Adult dose, it's a potent anti-coagulant; enough to cause a child to bleed out through their mucosal membranes. There's no good antidote."

The nurse pursed her lips. "That was from my previous patient."

"Right," Morgan took her elbow and pulled her from the room. "Come on lady, let's go check that."

Mrs. Johnston looked ashy pale. "You don't think…"

"We don't know." Hotch replied and then he opened his phone. "Garcia?"

"Speak, my Lordship."

"I need you to find the membership lists for any church in a two hundred mile radius that subscribes to the teachings of Pastor Green or any of his seconds. Then compare that to the hospital employment records…" He looked over at Mrs. Johnston, "…and the foster parents and group home employees in this and all neighboring counties."

"You're in the buckle of the Bible Belt, sir, that's going to be a lot of names."

"I know."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter thirteen**

**Mena Regional Hospital**

**Mena, Arkansas**

"You people are going to sit here and tell me that 75% of the staff at this hospital and 88% of the foster families in this part of the state are a threat to this little girl?" Mrs. Johnston was having trouble with that one.

"Not a physical threat." Rossi informed her. "We'd be surprised if any of them were outright physically abusive. But they would consider this to be an attack against someone important in their faith, and they would consider her to be the attacker."

"They don't have to be outright abusive." Morgan stepped in. "The chances of emotional abuse are high, as is neglect. Heck, she's a fairly frail autistic who's recently been through some major trauma. It wouldn't take much to turn her catatonic."

"Or to coerce her into refusing to testify or recanting her story," Hotch walked in to the room and caught the tale end of the conversation. "The judge is on his way."

"Judge?" Mrs. Johnston looked at the faces in the room. "All right, so what do you people have in mind?"

"We'd like to take her back to DC with us." Hotch replied. "She can stay with the Reid family for as long as needed."

Mrs. Johnson shook her head. "I'm sorry. I know there's a romantic notion out there about a cop finding a hurt child and taking them home and that's that, but in real life it does not work that way. Even a cop needs a home study before they can foster and adopt."

This is it; Spencer thought as Hotch looked over at him, this is it. "About that…"

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Eight months earlier.**

It was a crisp late September day. Dr. Gwendolyn Ryder Reid heard the familiar _ting ting_ of a bicycle bell and half stood to see who was coming down the road. When she saw a head of longish curly brown hair gliding by over the fence she went to kneel back down and finish her planting, only to knock over the watering can as she went, turning the soft soil in to mud which promptly soaked the legs of her jeans. "Goddamnedsonofabich, you piece of shit!"

"Language, Saavikam, language." Dr. Spencer Reid murmured to his wife as he walked his bike up to the porch where she was working in one of the flower beds.

"Oh, bite me." She replied without heat as she knocked the worst of the mud off her legs. "You're late."

"I know. When you didn't call me and the clinic didn't call JJ I figured you could use some more bulbs." He offered her the bulging brown paper sack. "You said you wanted more hyacinths." He settled on the side stairs and looked up at her with love and mutual disappointment in his eyes. "Nothing, huh?"

"Nothing, not a single follicle;" she accepted the sack and almost fell to the steps beside him. "As far as my ovaries are concerned we're in the middle of a war or a famine or something. They refuse to even consider making an egg."

"We can always try again next month." Spencer moved up a step and over so he could wrap her up in his long arms and legs and lean her back against him.

"No, we can't. That was the maximum dose of Clomid. We'd have to switch to the next class of drugs, and paying two to three thousand a month for a less than 25% success rate is dumb. Besides…" She leaned back against him and sighed. "…my blood work came back bad. Everything is creeping off again. I…I picked up my meds on the way home." She held up her hand and showed him how she had to tug to get her wedding ring off her finger.

Spencer hugged her and buried his face in his wife's hair a long moment. Three years ago when she had been found after her long captivity she had been too starved for her endocrine system to function in anything more than baseline survival mode. As soon as she had enough body fat for it to kick back on it exploded. She started massively overproducing the stress steroids, cortisol**, **norepinephrine, testosterone, as her body finally reacted to trauma she was no longer experiencing. At the same time the massive overdose and long period of semi-starvation caused her body to all but stop producing estrogen and progesterone, the primary hormones responsible for reproduction; which made biological sense, if you were starving and under some major threat, the last thing you wanted to be was pregnant.

As a result she'd started retaining water, gaining weight, her hair started falling out, and she even started growing some hairs on her chin and jaw. Her skin dried out, she became depressed and anxious and snippy with temper. A drug cocktail had reversed the imbalance, ketoconazole to inhibit the cortisol, spirnolatone to block the effects of the testosterone, estrogen and progesterone taken orally to restore normal hormone levels. Within a month she'd gone back to her normal happy, healthy, resilient self.

The problem was that the drugs were tetarogenic, they caused massive birth defects. So when the time came to try to produce eggs to be combined with his sperm in a Petri dish, so JJ could carry their child for them, she had to go off the cocktail. But without the cocktail, her ovaries clearly wouldn't work at all.

As one round of fertility drugs after another failed she had thrown herself into creating the garden. The need to create life, Spencer realized, to have something to show for all the emotional investment. The garden was glorious, would be even more so come the spring. But she…they would have given it all for one test tube full of tiny, living specks of humanity. "Did they say there was no chance at all?"

"They said wait another four or five years. Stay on the meds and keep my stress levels down, I might heal; of course, keeping my stress levels down means not teaching, not writing and not agreeing to be an expert witness. And…" She looked up and back at him. "…telling my husband to stay home every night and stop chasing serial killers all over the country."

"Yeah, like any of that's going to happen." Neither of them would give up their lives, he knew that much. They had invested as much in their careers as they would in their family. And helping other autistic girls and woman recover from trauma, helping autistic children make it out of abusive families and into homes where they could be helped had become a big part of his wife's life. It was taking what had happened and making it just a little bit good.

He felt her sigh. "It's not the not carrying a baby thing, I can live with that. I'm just utterly mad that they broke me so bad that we can't even be _parents_. It's like we're not worthy of being part of the human race because of what happened, we're just swept off in the corner with all the worn out old toys that don't matter anymore. We're going to be ninety and the only ones in the nursing home that don't have grandchildren to complain about them not visiting."

"You're _not_ broken." He hugged her tight. "You know just because we can't make our own kids; that doesn't mean we can't be parents. I mean, for one thing everyone is saying we have to have children in order to bring a child into the world that's as neurologically different as we are. But they still don't know if autistic spectrum disorders are genetic or caused by environmental factors. JJ is such a careful mother that any environmental factor could be taken out of the equation, so the better odds would be that our child would be completely neurotypical." He rocked her gently. "Given that, I think we might want to consider a different path."

"How so?' She asked, in a voice that clearly said 'We're both thinking this, but you went there first.'

"At any given time there are approximately 162,000 children in foster care in the United States. Now the mean age of those children is 10.2 years. We could go older, but I would prefer to stay younger, to give us some time before we have to start worrying about puberty."

"Which leaves us with 81,000, continue." She smiled.

"In any given population approximately one out of every thousand are somewhere on the autism spectrum."

"Which may be slightly higher given that parents with an autistic child might be more willing to turn her over to the state because they cannot afford the medical care; but I accept your number for the purpose of this discussion. That makes 81. Continue."

"Normally a population would run fifty percent male, fifty female. But the disorder tends to run to the male side, so one out of every four would be female." He rested his chin on her head and murmured, as if the numbers were a public presentation and this part was private. "You did say you were hoping for a girl, right?"

"Yes, I did. That makes 20.25. Say 20. Continue."

"Approximately 25% of autistic disorders are high functioning or Asperger's syndrome."

"That makes five, rounded. Continue"

"It's not unusual for adopting parents who don't have biological children to want to adopt children who share the same physical characteristics as they do. The majority of children diagnosed with high functioning autism are Caucasian, so by this point we can take race out of the equation. Thirty three percent of any Caucasian population has blue eyes."

"Which makes 1.32; be generous, round up to two."

He held up a lock of her hair. These days it might be Clarol #112, but it had originally been a rich, chestnut brown. "And factor in brown hair, at fifty percent of the population."

"That makes one. One," she sighed. "There's a daughter out there for us, somewhere."

"Well, there's a girl out there who's a lot like us, and who needs a family to call her own." Spencer hugged Gwen more tightly as the twilight began to creep in around them. "I guess that means the same thing."

"Now all we have to do is find her and bring her home." Gwen could already feel some giant manhole cover shifting off her heart. Whoever she was, wherever she was, she already loved her. I don't even know if she's okay tonight, if she's safe, she thought. When most women realize they're going to be a mother their children are tucked safe inside their bodies. Mine is _out there_, somewhere. How do I do this? "How do we do that?"

"I already made an appointment with the social worker the employee assistance office recommended. 10 am Friday, assuming an unsub doesn't pop out of the woodwork between now and then, and we'll start the home study process." Spencer pulled Gwen back long enough to kiss.

------

Later that night a lightning storm passed through the area, taking out their power for a time. In an older home in an older area this wasn't that unusual. Gwen rolled over in bed and watched Spencer for a while, as he rested against the headboard and read by the light of an oil lamp. "You too, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Spencer looked up from the page as he reached down to scratch the golden, furry head resting in his lap. They ought to not let Gipsy in the bed, he thought, but the golden retriever was too much comfort to really say no.

"You're as worried about her as I am." Gwen smiled and sighed. "You've been staring at the same page for three minutes; it never takes you that long to read anything."

"Worry is counterproductive. There's nothing we can do right now."

"You're asking for logic. I'm speaking of emotion. I'm _worried_ about her." Gwen rolled over and addressed the ceiling. "I'm worried that she's hungry, or cold or alone, or that she's so over-stimulated that she's almost insane with it. Or that she's being hurt or…" No, she couldn't even finish that thought.

"You sound like a parent with a missing child."

"I think I just became one."

"I know. So did I." He'd seen enough hurt children in his career to know exactly what she could be going through right now. And every part of him wanted to go protect her, to punish those who were hurting her. He tossed the book to the side, slid down, pulled his wife in close, and held on tight.

**Mena Regional Hospital**

**Mena, Arkansas**

**Current time**

"You know, your social worker back in Virginia says glowing things about you and your wife Dr. Reid." Sheila Johnston said, smiling, as she came into the conference room with the stack of faxed reports. "If I had known she was the Dr Reid who wrote that paper on working with female autistic sexual assault victims I might have overlooked the rest of it."

"So we have CPS approval of this move then?" Judge Zeke Silverman looked up from the stack of paperwork already in front of him. Having a state judge signing off on a placement hearing was unusual, but the local judges were suspected of being involved with the Sons of Liberty, and so Hotch had brought in one known to be clean.

"Yes, your Honor, with no reservations."

"All right then. I hearby order that the minor child, Madeline Rachel Martins be placed in the care of Child Protective Services of Fredericksburg, Virginia for a period of no less than six months. During that time she will reside in the home of Drs. Spencer and Gwendolyn Reid and be monitored by that department. If at the end of six months this placement is approved by the department and the local judge concurs then Drs. Spencer and Gwendolyn Reid will be granted the right of adoption." Judge Silverman started signing his way through the file.

Spencer thought his head was about to fall off. In the words of my personal Saavik, he thought, holy shit.

Hotch, who was representing the FBI, given that Madeline was a witness, but who was also a lawyer and looking out for a friend, looked up at him. "You're officially off this case as of now."

"All right," the rest of the team could handle it, he trusted them utterly. Right now his only concern was bringing their daughter home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Mena Regional Hospital**

**Mena, Arkansas**

"So, when can I take her home? The team wants to fly back to DC tonight; I was hoping to go with them."

The ER doctor looked over at Spencer. "I'd prefer to have her here overnight for observation. But, given the circumstances, so long as she finishes the full course of antibiotics and you continue to push fluids, I would say the sooner the better."

"The circumstances?"

"Most of my nurses are severely upset by what's happened. The Tucker's are well known and well liked around here. They refuse to believe that their child rearing techniques could be considered abusive or that one of their children could be a rapist. Most of them are accusing law enforcement of trumping up the charges."

"Most of them?"

"Most of them." Just then the sound of breaking glass shattered the relative calm of the ER. The state police that had been guarding the building raced toward the lobby where someone had thrown a brick at a window. "And then there's the other problem."

"Noted. We believe they'll back off when they see the Tucker kids going home."

"Yes, well, I'm sure you'll understand why I'd rather have the whole circus out of my ER."

------

"So," Spencer said to Madeline as he came in and relieved the agent on duty. "Has anyone told you?"

"Nope." Madeline shook her head. She'd been trying to sleep a little, she was really tired, it had been a very long day. "No one told me anything since you left with that scary nurse." For a while now all of the nurses who had come in had been, well, grumpy or something. They had been giving the FBI lady with the magazine dirty looks. She'd just watched them, and didn't look like anything.

"Well, you said you wanted a Mommy and a Daddy. What if I told you you were going to be living with me and my wife? Ooof!" Spencer grunted as a flying nine year old pushed all the air out of his lungs, and lodged securely in his heart.

**Mena Intermountain Airport**

**Mena, Arkansas**

This investigation was now entirely McAdams' problem, any additional information on the profile could be sent in from HQ. It was time for them all to go home.

What ought to have been a five minute ride to the airport had turned into a 20 minute ordeal as Morgan carefully navigated the SUV around protestors, reporters, camera crews and various and sundry police officers. During which time Madeline, wrapped in a blanket, snug and warm and securely tucked in the back seat between Spencer and Emily, ended up dozing off in the gathering gloom.

When they got to the airport Spencer went to try to ease her out of the car, only to have Hotch at his elbow. "Don't take the blanket off; it's the temperature change that wakes them."

"Okay." He slid her over and kind of put her over his shoulder, rather than a flat out carry, so that her weight was on her front, not her bruised back. "Are you sure, though? She was so excited about her first plane ride."

"She'll have a lot more trips on a plane; right now she needs the rest." They all moved out of the way while Spencer carried her to the back of the plane and gently put her on the couch.

Only once did Spencer pull back in horror as she murmured, turned and thankfully snuggled in rather than woke. But eventually he managed to gingerly get the seatbelt secure around her middle, and could nod to JJ that they were ready to go. As the plane began to taxi he dimmed the lights, partially shut the privacy curtain and joined the team at the table, sitting where he could watch her sleep.

"Congratulations, Dad, it's a girl." Morgan chuckled as they began to take off. "How does it feel?"

"I keep going back and forth between utter certainty and outright terror. The cognitive dissonance is giving me a headache." Spencer was talking to Morgan, but he kept wanting to watch Madeline sleep.

JJ laughed. "Welcome to parenthood."

"This is normal?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now."

JJ smiled and shrugged. "Take her home; let her get a good night's sleep. Then feed her breakfast, let her take a bath and introduce her to Gipsy."

"What happens after that?"

"You'll figure it out." JJ suddenly thought of something. "You did tell Gwen she was coming, right?"

Spencer just blinked a moment. "Excuse me." He moved to the other side of the plane as he pulled out his phone.

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

"Got her?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Yeah." Spencer slid Madeline out of the back seat of Morgan's SUV and back up into his arms. He turned and headed up to the porch where a warm circle of light, a golden dog and his heart were waiting.

Morgan followed them up, carrying Spencer's bag. "Congratulations, Red." He reached out and gave Gwen a hug. "Looks like you're a Momma."

"Thanks, Uncle Derek." She teased back. "I'm probably the only mom who ever wished that 'labor' had been a little longer." Two hours was just not enough warning. She understood and wouldn't have had Spencer act in any other way, but still, two hours!

"You are." Morgan grinned as Spencer headed up the stairs. "I'll see you tomorrow; Hotch wants you all at the office by 10 am for debriefing."

"Okay, we'll be there. Good night. And thank you."

"Anytime, Red. Anytime."

------

Spencer just stood there, looking down at the girl who was now tucked securely into her own bed in the moonlight. He felt a nudge on his leg, and looked down at Gipsy, then over to his wife as she joined him. They stood there for the longest time, just watching her sleep. I still know how she's feeling, he thought, Gwen's as terrified and happy as I am. All our combined educations and we're about to be vanquished by a little girl. "What have we done?" he murmured.

"I have no idea." She replied.

Then Madeline murmured and rolled over and they took that as their cue to tiptoe out.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Gwen whispered as they shut the door behind them. "Hungry?"

"What?" Spencer snapped out of his own thoughts and really looked at her. "That thought doesn't connect to anything."

"No, not really." Gwen's thoughts were looping randomly; every so often one escaped her mouth. 'Holy crap we have a child' was randomly blending with 'Yeah! She's here and home and safe!' and 'Spencer's home from work again'. "Are you, though? Hungry?"

"No. Tired." Tired in body and soul, Spencer realized. He went across the hall into their bedroom and started stripping off satchel and watch and clothing. "How are your hands tonight?"

------

Spencer's body was still steaming as he let the towel drop and landed fully naked face down on the bed. The long, hot shower had been the first part of their regular coming home ritual, cleansing cases, unsubs and dead bodies off the soul.

Reconnecting was the second.

His eyes drifted shut as he felt Gwen's weight on the bed behind him, and then felt her climb over until her weight settled light and even across his backside. He smiled at the warm dribble down his spine. But when her hands spread out the oil and _pressed_ he finally started groaning. "Oh, I missed you this time." Sudden, spontaneous touch in an over stimulating environment could be one of the most irritating sensations, but warm, familiar touch in a quiet, closed environment was absolute heaven.

"That bad?" Not only was it good for her to reconnect with the body she loved as much as her own, to touch and be touched in return, but performing massage was good therapy for her hands and wrists. She smiled as she leaned over to spread the oil over his shoulder blades, as it brightened and picked out the details in the small tattoo he had on the right side. It was a chess piece, of course, the white queen. She bent over to place a small kiss right there, before sitting back up and starting her work in earnest. "I mean, other than the obvious."

"You have no idea. We read about these people. We study their writing, we watch their videos, but you have no idea how painful a life that repressed can be until you're right in the middle of it. Even a hot shower is considered a sinfully sensual luxury; or comfortable clothing; or an expression of individual creativity. Sometimes they eat well, but you cannot put a lifetime of sensual experiences into the occasional brownie."

"I don't know. There are some very good brownies in this world." She wasn't serious. As she worked up and out from his spine she found the knots of tension, too much time over a computer, not moving in the shadows, worry, stress. She pressed and kneaded at each one as she found them, until the tissue under her hands softened and spread and relaxed. Then she gently stroked each area back to calmness before moving on to the next.

"Not good enough, besides, they used a mix." He buried his head in the mattress and groaned as she started in on a particularly tight knot. "They literally didn't allow the children five minutes alone to themselves; for fear that they might feel pleasure of some kind or have an independent thought. They even made them shower together."

"That almost sounds like Frank and Nadine's house." Gwen remembered the group home she'd lived in for a time. Lots of kids, no privacy. Granted her foster parents actually cared, tried to make it good for their charges. And there no one hit.

"Worse, picture being locked in the house all the time. Granted the little ones blew off energy by running and screaming, but by the time they hit puberty that was no longer allowed. No creativity, no sensuality, no sports, no exercise, no real learning, just caring for the house and children all day."

"All that adolescent energy and nowhere for it to go," Gwen shook her head. "You're right, at least I had school. And romance. You." She leaned over again to kiss the back of his neck.

"They allow themselves nothing. I was told that if I was "good enough", as in utterly perfect, for six months that I might possibly be able to hold their daughter's hand. Imagine being twenty-two and having no idea what a woman looks like, let alone feels like and having to channel all your hormones into maybe holding a hand someday. Of course with nothing to channel all that energy they cast it out on the scapegoat, the outsider. That way they didn't have to have anything break their picture of perfection. Normally they attack other adults on the internet, but then this perfect target comes along." He buried his head and groaned again. "You know this whole thing could have been avoided if Benedict had been allowed to stay in the shower and whack off once and a while."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Were you whacking off when you were twenty-two?"

"I was whacking off since I was sixteen and pictured you trying on that bra. Speaking of which…" Now utterly relaxed and content and _home_ Spencer rolled over, grabbing Gwen by the waist and holding her steady as he did so, so she ended up straddling his groin. He smiled a wicked smile and began unbuttoning her nightdress, baring her sweet curves to his gaze and his hands.

"…time to work on the front?" She laughed, low and slow and began to run her oiled hands over his chest. Once he had her nightgown open she bent to kiss him, rubbing her body against his, nipping at his lips and chin. "There's supposed to be balance in the universe. Maybe we get all the pleasure they deny."

"I'll accept that." As she sat back up he helped her, guided himself within her, ran his fingers over the tattoo of the white knight piece she had just there. He liked it like this, liked the tidy neatness of her. You really couldn't tell from the outside, it looked so secret, but he could picture a cutaway view like this, see himself embedded deep inside her. Inside. The thought made him groan and arch up into her as he held her still.

His groan matched her own as he pressed himself against that spot deep inside. Even after years together it still felt like he was touching her soul when he buried himself that deep. She'd missed him; she'd ached for him when he was in that place, in that hell. On a level beyond words she'd known how this case would feel to him, even before he left and had _ached_ in sympathy for it all. Now he was here and their pleasure was reignited and the rightness of it, the goodness of it had her quickly near the edge of time. She whimpered as she felt his hands cup her breasts and he pressed up into her again.

"Don't scream." He chuckled even as his voice broke with need and want. "You'll wake the baby." Not exactly a baby, but that wasn't the point. His smile was pure, loving evil as the realization that she couldn't give voice to her passion this time came into her eyes. Sorry, my lovely screamer, he thought, you're going to have to hold it in this time. He gently eased one finger in between them, to find that little bundle of nerve and flesh. He wasn't going to last long, not tonight, not this night.

Oh. Oh. Gwen pressed her lips together tight as wave after wave of hot, pouring pleasure crested and fell and crested again. Not scream? Not scream? With all this, was he mad? She felt the little mews coming from her throat as he pressed up into her again and again and she just wanted to explode from it all. Then his finger hooked up against that nerve and she threw back her head and caught her wail in her teeth as her body tightened and the night flew around her.

He had one moment, one moment to think when her head fell back and her body became one long column of heat pulsing around him. So beautiful, he thought so…and then he was all but lifting her off the bed as he arched and poured into her.

Gwen drifted back into her body, felt herself falling forward, landing softly on that perfect body beneath her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried kisses under his ear. "Welcome home." She murmured quietly.

He caught her as she came down, eased her down against him and felt her body fit his just so. As he drifted off to sleep he pressed his face into her hair, and smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter fifteen**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Madeline woke up and for a moment was utterly befuddled. The last thing she remembered was being bundled up in a car, tucked up next to Spencer while people yelled and banged on their windows. Now she was lying in a strange bed and she had no idea where she was.

It was a very comfortable bed, she realized. She felt like she was lying on a big, squooshy pillow, with and even squooshier pillow under her head. She had a soft blanket and a quilt tucked up under her chin. The quilt was the prettiest thing she'd seen in a long time, all birds and ribbons and roses. And best of all she had it all to herself.

She rolled over one way and lifted the edge of the blinds to peek out the window. It looked like morning out there. She could see a back yard with funny looking boxes and tons of flowers everywhere and some trees that were all out in pink and white flowers too. She looked but she didn't see any houses on either side.

She decided to roll over and that's when she got the first pleasant surprise. The room was nice enough, not too big and not too small, white walls and white furniture, including an empty book shelf and a desk. But sitting right there, close to the bed was a dog! A pretty, soft, golden dog that was looking right at her, as if she'd been waiting for Madeline to roll over and notice her. "Hello. Are you friendly, huh?" She held out a hand and the dog came over, sniffed, and the sat closer, kind of nudging her hand up as if to say 'scratch my ears, please.' Madeline happily did so for a bit, before she reached down to read the tag on the dog's collar. "Gipsy. Hello Gipsy, my name's Madeline."

After a few minutes of petting she decided she had to get up. She sat up and realized she was still in the leggings and t-shirt they'd given her at the hospital. Her hair felt like it was in knots and her mouth tasted nasty. "Do you know where the bathroom is, Gipsy?" A dog wouldn't know, so she figured she ought to explore a bit. No one was ever happy if you wet the bed.

There was one door straight ahead that was open a little and one door to the side. She tried the side one and found a bathroom. Or at least a room with two sinks and mirrors on one side, two cupboards and a door on the other, and a door directly across. The door between the cupboards led to another room with a toilet and bathtub, which was a good place to start. That done she made use of the soap by the sink, it smelled kind of almondy and made her hands feel soft. In the mirror she had a look at her eye. It had turned all kinds of funny colors, and still hurt when she poked at it, but all the ice yesterday must have helped, she could open it today.

The other door out of the bathroom led to another bedroom. It had a grown-up sized bed, but didn't look lived in. There were no clothes around, and the bed was tightly made, and it looked very clean. She went back into the room where she started and found Gipsy waiting for her. "I don't know what to do now." She told the dog.

Almost in answer Gipsy slid through the barely opened other door and disappeared. Madeline followed her, only to find herself in a hallway. On this side were the door she just left, and another door which had to lead to that other bedroom. Across the hall was another door. In-between the two were stairs leading down to what had to be the front door. Gipsy was nowhere to be seen.

She tiptoed across the hall and opened the door, just a crack. Inside was clearly a grown-up bedroom, and a lived in one at that. She could see a chest of drawers and a table, both with stuff on top, and a chair with some clothes over it, and a bed that wasn't made up. But best of all the bed had piles of books on each side. Piles! She could feel herself grinning already. She wanted to go in and look, but kids weren't usually allowed in grown-up bedrooms and she could hear a shower running in there, so she quietly closed the door instead.

She was about to go down the stairs when she heard a chuffing noise behind her. She turned and spotted Gipsy, sitting as if waiting for her at the end of the hall. She headed down there, only to find more stairs, one set that went up and then turned back on itself; the other went down and then turned. From downstairs came music and the sound of someone in a kitchen and the most amazing, wonderful smell she'd ever smelled in her life. She felt her stomach wake up and grumble loudly at her, and she thought she'd do anything for that smell.

She kind of crept down the stairs a bit, just until she could see who was down there. There was a kitchen down there, a round table over by a whole wall of windows and just by the stairs a funny, old looking stove and some counter space. She couldn't see the sink or the refrigerator. And there was a woman down there. She was wearing a flowery shirt and black pants and her hair was back, and she was cooking whatever smelled so wonderful. For some reason Madeline was too scared to go any further. She sat on the stairs and watched the woman cook and held on to Gipsy, who sat right there and let herself be held on to.

After a few minutes Gipsy looked around back up the stairs. Spencer came down, barefoot and in pants like the nurses at the hospital wore and a t-shirt. His hair was all wet, so he must have been who was in the shower. He padded down and sat on the steps next to her and smiled. "Good morning." He said, keeping his voice low "What are you doing here?"

Madeline shrugged. She didn't know how to explain how she was feeling. It seemed silly to be scared. She hung on to Gipsy and didn't say anything. A moment later her stomach rumbled again.

When Spencer and Gwen had gotten up this morning he had gone for his run with the dog while she'd gotten her shower. As they had passed they had both stuck their heads in the door to check on the sleeping Madeline. Before his shower he had checked while Gwen headed down to start in on breakfast. After his shower he checked again, only to find her bed empty and no Gipsy to be found. Now here was this. He ought to have known that it would be more complicated than JJ let on. "You sound hungry." He pointed out. Madeline shrugged again and kept watching Gwen cook. He watched the set of her posture, how she kept watching the pans, the look in her eyes. "I'm thinking….that you're scared because you're afraid you're going to go down there and she's not going to give you any. You're afraid of how that will feel."

Madeline looked back at him. Behavioral Analysis, she thought, mind reading. She nodded, and went back to watching the food.

"Well, that's understandable. It's going to be like that for a while until you get used to the idea that there will always be some for you. You won't ever be hungry for long in this house, I promise. But the only way to really know that is to keep trying, which means we're going to have to be brave and go down there." He craned up and over her a bit to have a look in the kitchen himself. "I think we're okay though, it looks like she made enough for about twelve." Madeline looked back at him a long moment and he held out his hand. "How about if we go try together?"

Brave, Madeline thought, she didn't feel all that brave. But Spencer would be there and he'd stopped Father Tucker so he could make everything all right. She took his hand and let him tug her to her feet and lead her down the rest of the stairs.

Well, here we go, he thought; he walked Madeline right up to the stove, put both hands on her shoulders, and made the introduction. "Madeline, this is my wife Gwen. Gwen, this is Madeline. Please tell me you made coffee."

"Of course." Gwen clung to her spatula for dear life and looked the little girl over. Too pale, she thought, and too skinny and her hair is already starting to work toward dreadlocks. We're going to have a heck of a time after breakfast. But there was something about her that just grabbed on to her heart and didn't let go. She looked at the girl's eyebrows and nose and in between flicked over her eyes a few times, but didn't catch them at all.

Madeline was doing the same thing. She's not much taller than I am, she thought, and her eyes are really blue and I like her hair. But every time she checked to see if Gwen was looking at her she really wasn't, exactly. Finally she figured it out and she started giggling. After a moment Gwen started laughing too.

"What?" Spencer, who was working on his first cup of the necessary medicine, wanted to know.

"We can't look at each other!" Someday this child might bring home my great-grandchildren, Gwen thought, and I might still not be able to look her in the eye. For some reason they both found this inordinately funny and laughed until the dog joined in with a bark.

Spencer found all this exceedingly pleasing, felt a smile permanently embedding itself on his face. How better to start a family than with a good belly laugh. He waited until the worst of the storm had passed then moved to the table, pausing to give his wife a lingering kiss on the way. "I'm glad to see you two are so happy about it. What's for breakfast?"

"Scrambled eggs, sausage, French toast, bananas, milk, and orange juice." Gwen liked a big breakfast and a small lunch, Madeline needed to eat, and Spencer burned off anything you put in his vicinity. There was no reason not to cook. "And it's almost ready." She turned off the music for being distracting and put the eggs in the pan.

"Can I help?" Madeline wanted to know. She liked it here, grown-ups laughed here, and really kissed here, which was kind of gross but it felt more real than when Mother and Father Tucker did it, or even when Mom and Paul did it, and that was a good feeling. And there wouldn't be piles and piles of chores, not if there were only three people around.

Gwen considered this. On the one hand, chores were a good thing for children; it made them feel like a participating part of the family. On the other, she'd been through so much the past few days. "Not this morning. Today you are a guest, tomorrow you start helping out. Agreed?"

"Agreed." That sounded totally fair. Madeline went and sat at a place at the table, where there was all kinds of light. Spencer had opened the newspaper, and there on the front page was a picture of the Tucker Family! "Hey, Becky's picture is in the paper."

Spencer turned the page over and looked. "So it is. They have a two page spread on the raid." He folded up the paper and went to fetch a tea towel and an ice pack. "Put it on your eye, just like yesterday."

"In the Times?" Gwen brought the platter of sausage to the table. "I told you these people were more influential than you realized."

Madeline was too busy salivating over the sausage to really pay attention. She held the ice pack over her eye and winced a bit until it went numb. "What raid?"

"Um…we'll talk about it over dinner." Spencer looked over at her. "After breakfast you'll need a shower and then we'll all get dressed. We have to go over to my office where some people are going to want to talk to you about what happened."

The thought of that almost turned Madeline's stomach enough to make her not want breakfast. But only almost. "I don't want to talk about it."

Gwen brought the eggs and French toast over. "I'm sure you don't sweetheart, but you kind of have to. And it really does make it easier if you talk about it."

Madeline looked up at her, feeling rather skeptical about that. "How do you know?"

Gwen crouched down by the chair so she could almost look her in the eye. "Because it happened to me too."

Madeline blinked. And blinked. She didn't think that had ever happened to anyone, ever. "Really?" She turned to look at Spencer. "Really?"

They both nodded. "So anytime you want to talk to us about it," Gwen finished, sliding in to her seat, "You can. It won't upset us to talk about it." We'll rant and wail to each other in private, after you're done, she thought.

"And you don't have to be ashamed or embarrassed about anything, that all belongs on the Tuckers." Spencer had to point out, as he started filling the plates.

Madeline was thinking that over for a long minute. "I'm not one of Them, I know that much. I always thought I was a Something Else. But I thought I was the only Something Else." She looked over at Gwen. "Does that mean that you're a Something Else too?"

Gwen nodded. "And so is he." She nodded at Spencer. "He's just the boy version."

"Oh." She thought about that for a moment. "Cool." She blinked. When she wasn't paying attention her plate had filled up with the most delicious looking food ever. She looked around and realized that they had just started eating. "Are we going to do a devotional?"

"Nope." Spencer replied.

"Are we going to say grace?"

"Nope. But I will thank the cook." Spencer raised his juice glass to Gwen, who smiled and bowed in return.

"And I will thank the farmers at the market, and the butcher, this sausage is excellent." She replied.

"So you just start eating?"

"Yep."

"Cool." And she dug in to breakfast.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter sixteen**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Breakfast was over, or mostly over, Madeline was still nibbling on things. Since Gwen cooked Spencer was doing dishes, it was her turn to savor a cup of coffee and have a look at the paper. But all this was interrupted by the new voice at the table. "So, what rules do you have here?" Madeline thought it was best to get it all out in the open. There wasn't a Becky here to show her what to do.

"Rules?" Gwen looked over at Spencer, realized the blank, terrified look on his face matched her own. "Uhhh…"

Spencer froze. Rules? They needed to make up rules? He might have an IQ of 187, but his mind just hit vapor lock. "Oh wait! Here's one."

"You're making them up _now_?" Madeline couldn't help but grin at them.

"Well, we've never had a kid before. But this one's still important." The rules for a safe foster care house were simple; all household chemicals in a locked cabinet, all drugs in a locked container, a fire extinguisher for every fireplace and one for the kitchen, a fence around any pool, and all firearms stored away from their ammunition and with a trigger lock. In their house the cleaning supplies were in a locked cabinet beside the washing machine, the drugs were locked in Gwen's nightstand, there were five fire extinguishers, they didn't have a pool, and his gun was on his nightstand, fully loaded, with the trigger lock in a drawer. If another Frank or another George Foyet decided to show up I am not going to be diddling around with a trigger lock while he kills my family. "No touching a gun. Ever."

Gwen nodded. "Yep. Number one rule. Not in this house or anyone else's house."

Spencer kept going. "Or anywhere else. And if you see one anywhere else come and tell us."

They really are making this up as they go along, Madeline realized. "What happens if I do? Will you hit me?"

"No." Spencer replied, quietly. "Never." He took another breath. "We will make you… write a long paper, a very long paper… on gun safety, and why what you did was dangerous and why you should never do it again."

"And we'll make you present it." Gwen added.

"Yes." Spencer almost shouted. "…To the FBI. And we'll have the local police there. And your teachers. So everyone will know that you deliberately broke the rules." And we'll put Hotch in the front row. That would terrify me.

Make her present it in front of all those people? She could feel herself curling up in embarrassment just from thinking about it. "You wouldn't!" She looked from one calming nodding face to the other. "You would."

"Yes. And rule number two." Gwen looked over at Spencer. "When we're out somewhere you have to stay where we can see you. Maybe even closer. But no further, ever."

"Yeah, that's a good one." Spencer grinned at his wife."

"What happens if I don't?" Madeline wanted to know.

"Then we go straight home. Period. No arguments. Even if we're someplace fun or out with other people. If we can't trust you not to wander off we can't trust you to be out in public."

"Oh, okay." Madeline looked down at her plate and kind of smiled. It wasn't that rules were always bad; it was only when they were unfair or impossible to follow. So far these were okay. "What else?"

"Hmmm, here's one." Gwen answered. "Please stay out of our bedroom and Dad's office up in the attic without us. If you want to come in and we're there, knock first."

"I can do that." Madeline agreed. "Any more?"

Spencer thought a moment, rinsed and dried his hands, and came over to sit knee to knee with Madeline. "You need a nickname. Something we can always remember but never use. How about…" he looked over at Gwen, "pumpkin?"

"Pumpkin?"

"Yeah. Remember how the Tuckers wanted every order obeyed instantly and without question?" He waited for her to nod. "Well, we're not like that. We like it when people ask questions and think for themselves, even when we want them to do something. But sometimes things happen, and when they do we need to you listen and take orders and just do it, like the Tuckers do, and trust us to explain later. So when we start calling you Pumpkin that's what we need you to do. Think you can remember that?"

This is Serious, Madeline realized, this is Important. "I can remember that."

"Good." He looked a question over at Gwen. "Anything else?" She shook her head.

Madeline thought a moment. "Okay, I can do all those things, but, why? Why do I have to stay out of your room and the attic and why can't I touch a gun or go where you can't see me. And why Pumpkin?"

I really do like this kid Gwen thought. "Well, we don't want you in our bedroom because it's good for a married couple to have a private place all their own. That's something you kind of earn as you grow older. We don't want you in Dad's office because sometimes he brings home files from work and the FBI wouldn't want a kid in their stuff. We don't want you to touch a gun because you don't know how to do so safely yet, but someday you will learn."

"I will?"

"Yes, but that's up to Derek…um, Uncle Derek. He teaches those kinds of things in this family. He'll decide when you're ready and not one moment before. And we don't want you going where we can't see you because there are bad people out there sometimes and if we can't see you we'll freak out about it."

"Okay. What about the pumpkin thing?"

Spencer sighed. "You know how I hunt bad guys with the FBI?"

"Yeah."

"Well, sometimes they hunt back."

------

A few minutes later, after coffee was done and a dog was fed they were heading upstairs. "Can I read a book?" Madeline wanted to know.

"I don't know. Can you?" Spencer teased.

"Of course. I mean, do you have any books?"

"Come here." He led her out of the kitchen into the hall where the front staircase ended, and pointed to a big door in the wall. "It slides, it doesn't pull. I want to see if you can do it, it's kind of heavy."

Madeline gave the door a tug, then a pull, then a push. It slowly slid along a track and into the wall. Beyond that door was the most wonderful thing…a room full of nothing but books!

Well, that wasn't quite true. There was a long table down the middle, and a couple of chairs, and a cozy looking bench built in to the window. But the walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookcases, many of which were full, and there were stacks of books on the floor and on the table. It was amazing. "Wow…" Madeline thought she could go in there and never, ever leave.

"It used to be the dining room, but we needed the shelf space." Spencer folded his arms and looked around. "You should know, we don't really have a TV, we just hook up a big computer monitor to watch movies sometimes."

"That's okay." Madeline's eyes were drawn to the titles, and her head automatically tipped sideways to start reading them.

Spencer recognized the impending reader's trance, and knew he had to move quickly if they were to get to work on time. "What was the last thing you were reading before you went to the Tucker's?"

"Dante's _Inferno_."

"Excellent choice." He quickly scanned the appropriate shelf and found a slightly battered paperback copy. "Here, you can take it with you, and poke through the shelves later. You need to go get a shower. Come on. Come." He had to tug her elbow to get her moving.

-----

Spencer came out of their bathroom, a tie draped around his neck. He didn't wear them as much anymore but with his luck Strauss would be in on the debriefings, and on his ass about adopting the witness. He did not need her getting cranky about him lacking a tie. He looked over to where Gwen was buttoning a skirt over the inside-out leggings she wore to keep her skin calm. "So what are you going to be doing while Madeline and I are being debriefed?"

"Meet with Dave Rossi." She fluffed out her ponytail and tucked some combs in to hold back her hair. "He wants to pick my brain as an expert witness on the effects of trauma on women with autistic spectrum disorder. I don't know how much he'll be able to use with the conflict of interest, but at least I'll be able to get him started."

"You should have him sit in on one of your autism awareness classes."

"Only if you come teach it with me so you can disarm him if need be. Gah. It's 9 in the morning and I'm already tired."

"Deal. Having a kid is supposed to do that to you. Dad's office?"

"What?"

"You referred to the attic as 'Dad's office' a few times down there."

"Did I?" She was grinning. She couldn't help grinning. Then she heard the water shut off. "Pardon me; I have to go comb some hair."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

Monday, Morgan looked up as Spencer sat down at the table. "Seen Hotch?"

"Actually he was meeting Gwen and Madeline at the school district this morning. According to Virginia state law we have to enroll her in school within 72 hours, but given that she's such a high abduction risk we don't actually want her attending. He's going to go explain to them that it would be better for her to home school, possibly with a tutor. Or that since Gwen's taught at the university level she actually can follow an Individualized Education Plan. Eventually we plan to pull her out and home school her anyway, but since she's still technically a ward of the state we have to work with the school district." Spencer very carefully set his cell phone on the table so he wouldn't miss Gwen's call.

"Given what Madeline's been through and where her head is at, it seems like that would be a no-brainer. Can the district even provide her what she needs?"

The question made Spencer chuckle. "No. The question is usually one of socialization, the idea that children should spend large amounts of time mixing only with people of their own age group, after all adults spend much of their time getting to know each other in the middle of a violent mob. Where are you in the Sons of Liberty investigation?"

"Technically you're not on the case." Hotch said as he walked in.

"Just curious, what did the school say?" Spencer checked his phone, still no call.

"I spoke with the head of the department; they understand the situation and are writing the IEP for home study. It looked like they were wrapping up when I left." Hotch almost smiled as Spencer let out a long breath, if it was Jack he would have been worried as well. "And we managed to catch the ringleaders of the Sons of Liberty in the raid; all that's the good news."

"So what's the bad news?" Spencer asked.

"We didn't find any evidence implicating Green, Tucker, or any other of the seconds in their network. It looks like the ringleaders were their eldest sons; Jeddidiah and Josiah Green, Benedict and Bobby Tucker, and so on." Hotch put pictures up on the board of eight men between the ages of seventeen and twenty two.

"So, what does that mean for Green and Tucker?"

"We didn't find any reason to hold Green. He was released this morning. Tucker was as well. Green is arguing that the beatings he gave Madeline weren't abuse based on the community standard in that part of the country, and that it was his right to use corporal punishment as it is called for in his faith." Hotch's face didn't as much as twitch at the shocked looks on the other faces. "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes. Proverbs 13:24 They're still looking at him for abuse by way of neglect, since she was raped in his home, but the judge was sympathetic enough to release him on very little bail; the same with Sandra Tucker. And the same judge granted the sons bail, although the families had to put up their commercial properties for the bond. They've been forbidden from gathering, and I believe legal is coming by to get you, Gwen and your social worker to sign restraining orders against Benedict."

Spencer was about to ask 'What about Tucker?' when JJ walked in and turned on the TV. "You guys have to hear this."

JJ tuned in to one of the full-time news networks. On one half of the screen was a blond woman whose face was stuck in a perpetual sour frown. On the other was Pastor Green and he was in high dungeon. "…invade a private home and take a child entrusted to the care of a good, Christian family in order to indoctrinate her into the socialistic welfare state…"

Someone came to the door and got JJ's attention, "Spence, Legal is downstairs. They said they need to talk to you."

Great, now what? Spencer thought. He must have missed a question from the sour-faced woman because Green erupted again. "They did not even place her with a competent family! Both the mother and the father have a mental disability…"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Morgan said, wearily.

Disgusted, offended, and deeply concerned, Spencer headed downstairs to see what else could go wrong today.

------

"Hey." Spencer kissed Gwen whenever he saw her. He simply had to, there was no argument. "Where's Madeline."

Gwen certainly wasn't arguing, "Playing video games with Auntie Penelope. Come on, it's been a morning." She took his hand and led him into the small meeting room, well away from the BAU.

"We're not taking Madeline out of your home," was the first thing Linda Bearsden, the social worker from the regional agency, said as they sat at the conference table. "I don't care what Green and the Tuckers try to throw at us; regardless of their personal beliefs a home with fourteen children is no place for a traumatized autistic child, period. And given that you are literally writing the book on autistic girls and trauma, Dr. Reid.," she nodded at Gwen, "we would be foolish to not avail ourselves of the opportunity."

"Wait. They want Madeline back?" Spencer was still stuck back five minutes ago. "I thought they hated her?"

"So did we," Peter Galen, the lawyer from the legal department replied. "But now they are saying that Madeline's mother verbally entrusted her to their care if anything should happen, that you and Gwen are not competent parents, that you are not attending to her moral education, and that this was just an effort on the part of the state to forcibly indoctrinate the Tucker children with a different ideology." He chuckled. "We think Green is hoping to keep the issue of custody so tied up in court that no one will be able to move forward on either the abuse or terrorism charges, which is just not going to happen."

"So, what do we do?" Spencer wanted to know.

"Well, there is no legal record of Madeline's mother, her only legal guardian, granting custody to anyone. There is no will or trust document on record anywhere and both grandparents are deceased, so upon her death Madeline became a ward of the state. In his emergency adjudication Judge Silverman transferred custody from the Alabama state department of Child Services to the Child Services department in Fredericksburg. The Tuckers never should have had anything to do with the situation. That they did has nothing to do with her future placement."

"I concur." Linda added.

"He's calling us incompetent parents though?" Spencer was still confused over that one.

Galen shook his head. "He's trying. But you're both clearly well educated, you are both gainfully employed, you're insured, you have ample income, you passed the home study, and you have both the means and the opportunity to provide the education and services she needs. In addition a household without other children, with a parent willing to stay home full-time if needed," now it was his turn to nod at Gwen, "Is the ideal situation. You are clearly capable of being good parents."

"What about her 'moral education'?"

Linda spoke up. "We discussed that at the IEP. Dr. Reid is going to enroll Madeline in the Sunday school program at All Souls UU church in DC. That will also attend to some of her socialization needs." It was her turn to smile. "It's not up to the state to favor one church over another, so long as the child's education is being taken into consideration. We usually prefer that foster children attend the same denomination as their birth families, but according to Madeline her mother never took her to church. It was only when her step-father's mother insisted that they attended one of Green's home churches. If All Soul's best fits your family then it's just fine with us.

Spencer was about to open his mouth to object, loudly, when he felt Gwen's nails dig in to the back of his hand under the table, "Oh, good."

Galen looked through some of his notes. "And this case has nothing to do with the Tucker children, so the last point is moot. Now, all that is the good news."

"There's bad news?" Spencer was having enough of a roller coaster of a morning, he did not need more.

"Green will have seventy-five days to file all the complaints he wants to, at which point we'll have the placement hearing and then it will be a done deal. In the mean time you need to make a good faith effort to reconcile with the Tuckers, to show the judge that you are willing to ease the transition for Madeline between one family and the other, even if that family was utterly unofficial and only loosely connected to her birth family." Galen pulled out some paperwork while Linda nodded. "The Tuckers have applied for visitation rights."

"What? They abused her! She is not going back, not even for milk and cookies."

"No, she is not Dr…er, Agent Reid." Linda considered that that was the best way to tell them apart. "Although even a ruling of abuse is not always enough to stop visitation under Virginia state law, the agency can insist on supervised visitation in a public place if they feel the danger of further abuse is high. And in this case we must insist on that. So a Court Appointed Special Advocate will be assigned to both supervise the visitations and speak on the behalf of the child to the judge. They will observe Madeline in similar situations with both families and then report back."

"And the Bureau considers her a witness and a high abduction risk." Galen cut in. "So they are insisting she be under guard as well."

"Do we know who's going to be assigned?"

"Well, we were just discussing that." Linda smiled. "There is an agent who has worked with the CASA program before, but we can't assign him this role. He would be considered a biased witness. However, as a bodyguard….."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**National Museum of American History**

**Washington DC**

Derek Morgan looked up as the familiar, smiling face came up out of the morning crowd gathering in front of the museum, waiting for it to open. "Good morning Michelle."

"Good Morning, Derek." Michelle Duplin had been a lobbyist for ten years now, and a CASA volunteer for nearly that long. She always did like working with the very handsome FBI agent, and having dinner with him as well, from time to time. "I am glad to see you here. Are these the Reids?" She looked over at the rather formally dressed trio as the woman stuck some knitting in her bag and the man marked a place in a book with his finger.

"Oh, I am glad to see you too." He gave her that million watt smile and led her over for the introductions. "Yep, this is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid." Tall, was the first thing Michelle noticed, and beanpole skinny. And rather formal for the day, in a three piece suit and tie, a walking stick and actual, honest-to-god, pocket watch. They shook hands, as Morgan continued, "And this is his wife, Dr. Gwen Reid." The woman didn't shake, but Morgan had warned her about that. Arthritis in the hands, or some such thing. The knitting must loosen up the joints. She was more formal as well, in a lace trimmed shirt and long skirt. "And of course you met Madeline in the office."

Michelle smiled down at the girl in the blue flowered frock. Even she had gotten in to the act. "Good Morning Madeline. That's a very pretty dress. You are all awfully dressed up today."

"Good morning." Madeline looked up at Michelle with nervous eyes. She knew Uncle Derek was there to protect her, that he would never let Father Tucker hit her, and that Benedict wasn't going to be anywhere near anywhere. But she was still scared. She couldn't help it. On the other hand, she'd get to see Becky again. That had to be worth some little bit of scared, wouldn't it? "Thank you. It's my favorite."

"Hey. It's going to be okay." Gwen nudged Madeline gently. She had been knitting at something and listening to her husband read aloud from a visitor's guide. "What do you want to see?"

"A museum and the scientists and curators who work there deserve as much respect as any ritual leader in any edifice dedicated to mythology. The choice of apparel is an outward sign of that respect." Spencer grumbled.

"I'm sorry?" Michelle looked past Madeline and Gwen and tried to sort what he just said.

Morgan leaned out. "They believe museums deserve Sunday clothes." He translated, before looking at his friend. "Are you still upset about the whole Sunday school thing?"

Spencer was about to open his mouth when Madeline piped up. "I like Sunday School. It's fun." Thereby shutting down his entire argument in six words, and leaving Morgan chuckling. Even Gwen was clearly trying not to laugh.

"So, where will you be while we visit with the Tuckers?"

"Either in the Arts and Industries building or the Castle." Gwen replied. "I'd love to say we'll be in the library, but it's in the same building and that really wouldn't be appropriate…..oh my."

They all turned around and saw who, or what, was coming down the street. Morgan's jaw dropped. "I don't believe it." A flock of children had started turning the corner and coming up the broad stairs of the museum. It just kept coming and coming. All of them in red, the boys in red polo shirts, the girl in dresses over blouses, much like Madeline's, but in plain, bright red. Fire engine bright red. And in the center of the flock of children and strollers were Mother and Father Tucker. Morgan voiced what they were all thinking, "They brought all of them."

Michelle smiled and put on her best layer of politic, the kind of attitude that made congressmen working late on a Friday vote her way. She waded through the throng of children up to the two parents to introduce herself. As she did so the entire throng went utterly, eerily still. "Mr. and Mrs. Tucker I presume? I'm Michelle Duplin the CASA volunteer. I'm going to be accompanying you today to supervise the visit and see how you and your family interact with Madeline. We didn't think you were going to drive everyone out here from Arkansas."

"Oh, they all missed their newest sister and wanted to be here for her, so we rented a house in town for a few months." Tucker laughed heartily, and falsely. "That's one of the good things about home schooling, we go where and when we want and take school with us."

"Don't you have to worry about work?"

"No, no. We live off the income from several commercial properties. We left our oldest boys home to look after them for us. They're good boys, very responsible."

"Oh. All right. Well, this is SSA Derek Morgan from the FBI." When Michelle introduced him Morgan stepped forward. Pulling someone out of their house in handcuffs was not exactly a formal introduction, after all. "The judge granted the Bureaus request for added supervision, so he will be accompanying us on the visits."

"Are you a real FBI agent?" One of the boys, one somewhere between six and puberty, asked?

"Yes, I am." Morgan replied with a smile.

"Let's see your badge." The boy demanded. Morgan obliging pulled it out and allowed it to be passed around. "Do you have a gun?"

"Yes. And no, you can't look at it or touch it." Morgan cut that request off at the pass.

Michelle waited a moment, but the Tuckers allowed the interruption without comment, so she continued. "I believe you know Dr. Spencer Reid." The two men glowered at each other.

"Is he really an FBI agent too?" Demanding Boy wanted to know.

"Yes, he is." Morgan replied.

"What kind of a doctor is he?"

"I'm a Doctor of Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering." Spencer replied for himself. All the boys nodded sagely.

Michelle just kept breathing, and smiling patiently. "But I don't believe you've met his wife, Dr. Gwen Reid."

"What kind of a doctor is she?" Apparently Morgan met Demanding Boy's definition of an FBI agent, and so must have all the answers.

"Mathematics, Chemistry and Physics." She replied with a gentle smile.

"Girls don't know about that kind of stuff." Demanding Boy scoffed.

"This one does."

"And of course you know Madeline." She looked down to where Madeline was clinging on to Spencer and Gwen's hands for dear life. "So, shall we get started? There's a lot to see in here."

Gwen crouched down to be at Madeline's eye level. "You'll be fine. Just think of it as spending a day with Becky. And if you feel at all uncomfortable tell Michelle and Derek and they'll make sure you're safe."

While Mr. Tucker rounded up his flock and Gwen and Michelle got Madeline going, Spencer stopped Morgan. "If you need us we'll be over in the Arts and Industries building."

"According to the flyer that's closed." Mrs. Tucker informed them as she stood in the middle of a circle of girls. The boys, the spell having broken, were beginning to bounce all over the area, yelling and jumping up and down the stairs.

With Madeline's hand safely in Michelle's, Gwen stepped over to join her husband. "It is. We're opening a new exhibit on the history of Mathematics in America; I was the Dibner Library Resident Scholar last year so I did most of the research on the project. I figured this was a good day to go over the installation before it opens. I'm just glad my residency ended it before Madeline came into our lives, now I have the time to really work with her." She couldn't help but notice the way the girls were looking at her, as if she was some kind of strange, new exhibit herself.

"Oh. Maybe we'll get to see it while we're in town." Sandra Tucker gave her a patronizing smile.

Gwen smiled politely, as politely as only one who has played politics at the academic level could. "I'm giving a lecture at the opening of the exhibit, I'd be happy to arrange for tickets." She turned to wave a little good-by at Madeline, the only blue dress in a sea of red. "I hope you all have fun today."

Mrs. Tucker murmured her thanks. As they walked away her voice was carried to their too-sensitive ears on the slight breeze. "That's why she hasn't been blessed with babies." Mrs. Tucker explained to her daughters. "…all her time worshiping science and no time worshiping God or caring for her husband."

This time Spencer dug his fingers into his wife's hand as they calmly walked away.

------

Michelle kept trying to get Madeline to join the rest of the children, but she very determinedly clung to her hand until they were through security. It took a bit longer than normal because four strollers had to be checked, five large diaper bags had to be processed, all the children had to be wrangled repeatedly, and Morgan had to settle things with the staff so he could come in with his gun.

Once in they gathered in a circle around Mr. Tucker all the boys started clamoring to go see either the cars or the Army exhibit! "All right then, let's go see the cars."

As they walked Michelle stepped over to a girl who looked to be in her mid-teens, and who was balancing a two year old on her hip. "Hi. I'm Michelle. What's your name?" She couldn't help but notice the teen's tired eyes, already sagging posture.

"I'm Brigit. This is my sister Brenda." The two year old cooed at them.

"So, what do you girls want to see today?"

"Oh, we usually just let the boys decide. It's good for them to practice leadership skills and for us to learn to defer to male authority. It gives us a chance to learn to submit to our husbands after we marry."

"Oh." Michelle looked around again. Madeline was walking with another girl her age, chatting away, being utterly ignored by the rest of the group. With, of course, the sole exception of Morgan, who was hanging back, silent and unnoticed, and watching her like a hawk. The girls were standing around in a small cluster, the older ones balancing babies on their hips. The boys were all over the entry hall, climbing over benches and putting their fingerprints on the glass over the exhibits. Mr. Tucker was trying to round them up and keep them in line, but it was almost impossible, really. And a small group of tourists had clustered around Mrs. Tucker. Michelle caught a fragment of conversation, something about how she had delivered them all…. "Does your mom usually pay this much attention to the little ones when you're out?"

"She doesn't have to worry about it that much. One of the nice things about a big family is that there are always plenty of people to help out. Each of us older girls has our own little buddy to look after. So they're well taken care of."

"Oh, I see." They hadn't even made it to the stairs yet and already the Tucker family had become their own exhibit, practically a wandering circus act as people stopped to even take pictures of the huge family. Michelle caught Morgan looking at her and smiled. This was going to be a long day.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter nineteen**

**Smithsonian Institution Building, aka "The Castle"**

**Washington DC**

Once they had crossed the mall Spencer took Gwen by the hand and dragged her toward the Castle. She only protested a little as he tugged her over to the stairs and after making sure the guard knew who it was, up the stairs. The Castle really is the heart of the Smithsonian. It contains most of the administrative offices, a large portion of the rare book library, and even work spaces for visiting professors. Tucked into various corners of its impressive, Gothic architecture are niches and nooks and ample windows where a man could find a quiet spot to hold and comfort his wife. Once they were quietly alone enough Spencer pulled Gwen into his arms. "You're ignoring her, right?"

"Of course," she said, in a voice that made it clear that she wasn't, not at all. She snuggled into his arms with a grateful sigh. Sandra Tucker had managed to hit a nerve that was surprisingly still remarkably raw. "She doesn't know any better. I mean, what am I supposed to do, come right out and tell her 'No, it has nothing to do with a mythic deity. A gang of sadistic rapists decided that they didn't want to deal with birth control so they forced me to have a hysterectomy.' Or that after everything they did my body is still too damaged to ovulate? Even if I wanted her to know I doubt she'd believe me." She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I envied those women for the longest time, you know."

"Exactly." He could only agree with her summation of the situation. But the last left him confused, and a bit curious. "You were envious of a group of women who have done nothing with their lives but turn their uteri into clown cars? Why?"

"Because their lives looked so beautiful. Back when you were working on the Sons of Liberty profile, and I was just starting treatment and we were going through all those blogs; those women made it look and sound like they were living in this gentle, feminine sort of paradise. They'd always been honored, cherished, from the time they were born. They never had a mother turning tricks in the living room, never had to live in foster care and never had to…go through what I went through; never had to…work at being together like we did. And they never had to go through fertility treatments, they got to create life. I never got to surprise you with that, never got to let you feel the baby moving, hear the first heartbeat, that kind of thing. So yes, I envied them." She'd leaned back against the red sandstone of the windowsill as she talked, held herself against the chill of the building, or of the memories.

"I'm actually glad about that, moving babies are kind of creepy." He wasn't going to let her get too far, stood that kind of close so he could keep toying with the lace on her sleeve. "Do you still want a baby?"

"We have a baby, remember? She's over in the American History Museum with Uncle Derek, hopefully having a good time." She managed a smile. "She's brilliant and funny and utterly wonderful and I'll love her until the day I die. But the adoption process is still considerably less magical than actually making life."

"It's Omelas is what it is you know?"

"Omelas?" She tipped her head, confused. She knew that word, how did she know that word.

"Yeah. Remember that LeGuin story about the perfect kingdom of Omelas. Where no one every fought, no hearts were ever broken, everyone was dedicated to peace and pleasure and art, everything was always perfect. But that perfection was bought at the expense of one child, who was forced to live in the utility closet under the stairs, where people could come down and mistreat it to disperse their sorrow, hurt and anger. That's what they're doing, that's their pattern. For the longest time those kinds of families would take one child, either a girl or one with a disability or an orphan they would take in and that child would bear the negative emotions of the family. It would be the one yelled at when the parents were tired or stressed, it would be the one with all the chores while the rest of the children mastered the accomplishments, it would be the one to bear all the sexual energy so the family could present the image of perfect mastery of their desires. When the internet came along it provided those people in those families with a safe, anonymous outlet, you can actually track the number of cases of sexual and physical abuse dropping since then, and that the consumption of internet porn is highest in areas with the greatest numbers of conservative, religious families. And the formalizing of the foster care system kept many of their previous victims out of harm's way; they've been so trained to hide the negative aspects of their lives that the idea of a home study is anathema to them. But then luck dropped one perfect victim into one family, and here we are."

Gwen had been listening, remembering. "As I recall the story most people, when they learned of the child under the stairs, rationalized its existence so as not to lose the perfection of their world."

"Yes, that would be most of the country, the ones who allow them to continue to perpetuate the lie of perfection in the face of clear evidence of abuse in these families, pedophilia clergy, sex scandals, and all the rest; the ones who give them special treatment, everything from tax breaks to immunity from prosecution to a greater share of the national soap box. Even if their own lives are genuinely messy they need to believe in the existence of that perfection somewhere." He looked out the window at the mall and the Capitol. "I think that's why they hate those of us who don't believe. We're the one's who walked away from Omelas. We refuse to buy in their perfection. We know there has to be a 'child under the stairs' somewhere and that makes us dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

Spencer nodded. "What would happen if one of us went under there and brought the child out into the light, if we took away their scapegoat? If we forced them to acknowledge that there is no such thing as perfection in life, that they have desire and pain and anger, the same way that everyone does? We wouldn't be harmed by the loss of that ideal, we live comfortably without it. If we stormed the gates of Omelas they would not only have to live with their own angst but we would hold their sins up for all the world to see, and unlike those who rationalize, even without hurting their own 'child', we wouldn't lose anything in the process. If anyone is liable to do that, we are."

"Isn't that exactly what we've done? Isn't that exactly what we're doing, literally in this case?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment. "Well, that explains why they want her back so much. But, my point was, do you really envy the women of Omelas, knowing that they have built their perfection on so much misery? I mean, they even foist the child rearing off on their daughters so they can maintain the idea that you never have to control your sexuality or reproduction and still have a perfect life." Something was dawning in the back of his mind, coming forward into the light. "Does this explain the whole decorating the house thing, the sewing your clothes and all that? Back before you took on the Residency here?"

Gwen nodded. "Caught. No, I no longer envy them their world of beauty. I realized there was no reason not to create a world of beauty for myself. You certainly wouldn't mind, and no one else mattered enough to want consideration. I wanted to see if I could have that lovely a life and still have my work and still accept all the pain in the past. And you know, it was working just fine…right up until I realized how less than magical the adoption process would be." She managed a chuckle. "There's still something rather unfair about that you know, that the women of Omelas who are doing such wrong get all that magic."

"We'll have to find a way to work on that then." He pulled her in toward him, only to turn her toward the Arts and Industries building next door. "In the mean time, it may not move on its own, but I'd love to see your latest creation."

------

The exhibit was stunning. Spencer knew that any exhibit was a group effort, that his wife's research was only a part of the whole. And yet the designers tried to reflect not only the nature of the object or concept being discussed but something of the people behind the work as well. In this case, given the small size of the exhibit, it mostly reflected his wife, and as such was presented in calm, light colors with a decidedly feminine feel. The centerpiece was a display of notebooks covering mathematical work from everyone from Benjamin Franklin to John Nash Jr., and a collection of drawings by Richard Feynman.

Okay, maybe it wasn't the most exciting thing ever, but he was amazed and deeply proud.

To celebrate they had lunch in the Castle Café. Now they were waiting, and playing their third game of chess. Two out of three, loser had to come up with supper tonight. He was already planning to go for take-out when, not if, he lost. He moved his bishop to a position to sacrifice in the hopes of freeing his knight for at least a check, and stretched his knee out under the table. There was a weather pattern moving through the area that was making it ache a bit, he just wanted it to finally pop or something.

Gwen felt his leg brush past hers and utterly understood. Her wrists were aching fiercely, so much so that she had pulled her fingerless gloves out of her bag to warm and support them. It was enough care that they stayed mobile; enough to allow her to move her knight and take the bishop. "Check. Do you hear singing?"

"Yes, I do." Spencer was about to use his rook to take that knight from her and put her in check, his only good move but he'd lose in four more unless he came up with something, when one of the guards came up to them.

"Dr. Reid?"

"Which one? Check." With the piece moved he looked up.

"Um, I guess either one of you. There's a guy with an FBI badge in the main lobby, he said to find you."

"Thank you." Even as he said it he was opening his bag and holding it below the table edge. In an almost practiced move Gwen picked up the ornate knight and swept the other, simpler pieces in to the bag, followed by the folded board, and finally the knight tucked into a different pocket. In seconds they were up and moving. "I concede. We'll get Chinese tonight."

In the main lobby they were confronted by a remarkable sight. The Tuckers were lined up like stair steps in front of the tomb of James Smithson, singing a hymn in perfect childish harmony. The tourists had gathered in a small semi-circle around them, taking pictures and video and recording this remarkably large, ever so perfect family. Madeline, Michelle and Morgan were nowhere to be seen. "Out here." The guard said, leading them out the main doors.

There was Madeline, bent over the trash can, with Morgan holding her up and Michelle holding back her hair. "Too late," was all he had to say on the matter.

"What happened? I mean, other than the obvious." Spencer took over the hair holding, and looked over at Morgan while Gwen crouched down next to Madeline.

Gwen looked up into glazed over eyes, heard the all too familiar whine, noted the rocking and flapping hands, and kept her voice calm and quiet. "Shhh, it's all right sweetheart. You're just tired and over stimulated is all. It's been a busy day." She pulled a bottle of peppermint oil out of her bag, and some tissues. A little oil on one and gently waved it under Madeline's nose. "Here, this will help settle your tummy." After a moment Madeline took the tissue and started using it herself, while Gwen started trying to wipe off as much of the mess as she could.

Morgan started summarizing. "Well, let's see. We rode on all the exhibits in the Transportation gallery, revisited every war in history of the US in glorious realism, ate the world's cheapest pizza and soda for lunch as a 'special treat', rode the ride simulators on the ground floor, a roller coaster, a stunt plane, that kind of thing, had something that resembled ice cream on the way over here, and then stopped to ride the carousel. You know, I've taken a dozen kids on that carousel; I've never had one start screaming and begging to get off before. She had a full-on tantrum kind of thing going. The Tuckers just lined up their brood and left her with us. We got this far and she turned green."

"You've never dealt with one with Vestibular or olfactory dysfunction problems before. You know we deliberately suggested the museum because we thought it would be quiet enough to avoid this problem." Madeline started squirming like she wanted to get down, so Morgan put her back on her feet, only to have her crumple to the cool stone sidewalk. "Gwen has a pass for the second floor, why don't we take her up there? It's a lot quieter and there's a bathroom where she can clean up." Spencer proposed. But then he turned to Michelle. "If the visit is over, that is."

"As far as I'm concerned they ended it when they walked away from a sick child." Michelle replied, her face a mask. "I'll stay behind and let them know after I report in." She stepped aside to make the call to the agency.

"I'll leave word with the guard if you want to join us. Next week will be different, I promise." Spencer was already picking Madeline up into her arms and heading for the stairs with Gwen and Morgan coming up behind him. Thankfully she wasn't quite too big for that sort of thing yet.

Of course in order to get to the stairs they had to pass through the mass of Tuckers. The singing was over, and they were beginning to go off like an atom bomb. Right in front of the door a small group of women were fawning over Sandra Tucker. "You have such a perfect family! How do you do it?"

Gwen turned and answered for her in a sharp, clear voice that had once reached the back of crowded lecture halls, and that Spencer hadn't heard in eight years, "By ignoring the one with special needs, for one thing." She glared at Sandra Tucker as every adult in the room went silent. "Being a good mother means more than just popping out one a year. It means actually raising your children. Yourself. Not enslaving your eldest daughters to do the job for you while you bask in the simplistic, mammalian glory of unfettered reproduction." She turned to the tourists watching. "If you want to see a good mother, I suggest you try the primate exhibit at the National Zoo. At least they take the time between pregnancies to raise their young." With that she turned on her heel and stormed after her family.

As they mounted the stairs to the second floor, leaving the hushed, disturbed murmurs of the tourists and the admiring smiled of the staff and researchers behind them Spencer leaned over and murmured to his wife. "Was it wise to storm the gates like that?"

"I didn't curse." Was all she had to say about that.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter twenty**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

"Are you sure you want me to open that?" said the voice through the bathroom door. "Actually you open it, my hands are a mess."

Spencer wasn't exactly certain he wanted to open, but this was one of those things that he'd learned to get out, and get it over with. He took a deep breath of the pure air of the bedroom and opened the door. There stood his wife in an old, stained t-shirt and old shorts, wearing gloves and spearing her hair with a reddish, foul smelling goop. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Because the grey is nasty and having someone else do it gives me the shivers. And I refuse to have ugly roots at the lecture." Gwen squirted the last of the dye on her part and started working it all in to her roots. "I told you I was going to be dying my hair up here, why did you come up? And where is Madeline?"

"Because I got an interesting e-mail from Garcia; and she's out in the back with Gipsy, Madeline, that is." He cracked open the window, to catch the reassuring sounds of laughing girl and barking dog, and went to sit cross-legged on the bed, upwind of the toxic stew in the bathroom. "Sandra Tucker is receiving a Mother of the Year award from Pastor Green's church."

"So? They venerate her ability to reproduce like a HeLa cell. This is not surprising news. I hope she enjoys the reward and may her piles multiply."

"She's going to be receiving it on the Today show."

Gwen stopped mid-squish, and stepped back away from the mirror so she could see her husband through the doorway. "I beg your pardon?"

"Green got her on the Today show. He's a lawyer and he wants to run for office, it's not unsurprising that he would have an affinity for manipulating the media."

"Spencer, I am trying very hard to not curse in front of you anymore or Madeline at all. But if this keeps up I'm going to start saying things like Sweet Jumping Crap more often." She sighed and went back to squishing. "Has anyone even thought to inform the media about the fact that they're in the middle of a child abuse investigation?"

"We can't. We have to respect the minor's right to privacy. Besides, they don't want to risk the case."

"Of course," she sighed, decided it was all squished in enough, stripped off her gloves and set the timer.

Spencer waited a long few moments, but nothing more was heard or seen from the bathroom. "What are you thinking?"

"That if I say anything about any of this I come off as the asshole."

"You have a right to your feelings. And you're in the privacy of your own bedroom; this would be the appropriate time and place to express those feelings."

Gwen slanted a lean in the bedroom door, pausing only to look out and note that a certain figure was having a blast with the swing on the old oak tree. Not that she was raising her voice or even emoting all that hard. No need to imitate a howler monkey as they said around here. "Okay, I'm an asshole. I'm jealous that she gets all the attention, when I've had to go through all the crap. I'm jealous that she gets Mother of the Year on national television because she spawns like some kind of mutant frog and then leaves her tadpoles to be raised by her elder daughters, while I can't even allow the one kid I'd lay down my life for to call me 'Mom' yet without pissing off a battalion of social workers. I'm jealous that to the whole world she's a real mother, even though she doesn't even change a diaper past six months, and I'm some kind of broken, asexual freak that's not a 'biological mother', so my needs and feelings don't count at all. I'm angry about the whole mess. There, I admit it."

"That's understandable." He thought for a long moment. "I'm just not entirely certain what to do about it. How much of this might be proceeding from hormonal instability or be part of the lingering effects of trauma?"

"It's not hormonal; my last test came out with everything in the optimal range. It might be partially a reaction to the trauma, realistically I did come out of that broken, and all the succeeding medical treatment did nothing to change my perception of that. But a goodly part of it is just feeling alienated from society, and being angry about it."

He nodded, "Also understandable. But I still don't see a solution to the problem. I mean, the medication and adoption solves the biological problem, at least as best as it's going to be solved."

"True. So then it becomes a question of solving the problem of alienation. I honestly don't know how to overcome that. Transitioning from just female to mother is a gradual process in our society, studded with many minor rituals along the way, giving everyone the chance to participate in the transition. As opposed to that the adoption process is a series of obstacles and condemnations, prophesizing your doom at every turn. You become more and more of a perceived mother as a pregnancy goes on, whereas you're warned to never, ever presume anything during the adoption process. In the end the biological mother gets a series of celebrations, while the adoptive parent gets a grudging signature on some paperwork and okay, now you're legal but don't assume society considers you a 'real' mother, ever. And as an adoptive mother, if you try to create celebrations along the way they come across as false and forced and like you're trying to usurp the rights of real parents that you simply do not deserve." She sighed and shrugged. "Sandra Tucker not only meets she exceeds the societal standards for motherhood. No matter what I do, I never will."

"You will to me. You will to Madeline."

She smiled. "That should be enough, shouldn't it? Like I said, I'm being an asshole until the timer goes off. I'm greedy, I want more."

"What do you want? You're going to have to be more specific."

"I wanted people to ask me how the adoption process was going, like they would ask about a pregnancy. I wanted people to get excited and hopeful with me. I want a baby shower, which is so silly I cannot even poke at that thought long."

"True, she's a little old for that."

"How about this one then; I'd like her to be able to call me 'Mom' in public if she wants to? I think I'd like that very much." The timer went off behind her. "Pardon me."

Spencer sat and stared at the bathroom door while the sound of laughter and barking drifted in from outside. He sat for a long time.

**Smithsonian Museum**

**Arts and Industries building**

**Washington DC**

The evening of the lecture was perfect; gentle weather, a not too large crowd, a perfect setting. They had set up the lecture in the West Hall, where the exhibit took up all of one of the second floor galleries, and where they could hold the reception in the Rotunda, a glorious bit of Victorian architecture complete with fountain. Granted it was her first lecture in years, nearly a decade, which would clearly explain the nervousness, but still, so far everything was perfect. There was no good reason to fret.

Gwen smiled a bit nervously as she took a seat in the front row and waited for the director to introduce her. She knew that Spencer and Madeline were there, the latter allowed up past her bedtime to be a part of this. And the rest of the team was there as well, having traded turns with someone named Cooper just so that Spencer could be there, and then having showed up to support them both. What she didn't know was who had brought the other video crew. "I know you were planning to film this, but two crews?" She asked the Director of the American History Museum, who was hosting the event and exhibit. "I think I may be honored."

"No, we only have one crew here. Excuse me." He went out to the crew, who referred him to a man with a short beard and bow tie. Gwen blinked, and caught her husband's eye. He nodded, yes, that was Pastor Green with the Tuckers. Yes, they knew. Well, all right then. She calmly turned back to her notes, simple as that.

A moment later the Director came down. "I have to apologize. Apparently someone in the media department gave them permission to film this for a documentary without informing me. Or you, I assume?"

"Correct. And given the source I believe it will paint a most unflattering portrait of both my work and this institution. I wish I would have known in advance."

"Well, Doctor, if you do not give permission for filming by an outside crew…."

"While I would welcome any reputable source, in this case I do not."

The Director hurried off again. After a bit of a heated debate that had the team just sort of drifting closer, the film crew set their equipment on a table at the back. After a few minutes, Kevin Lynch, of all people, seemed to wander over and turn the cameras off.

For a long moment she was scared out of her mind, utterly unreasonably, until the thought struck her, "What could Green possibly do to you, beat you? Not feed you for days on end? Pull out the cattle prods?

As Ethan would say, it's all about what side of the river you're standing on.

She listened to the introduction, degrees from CalTech, papers in this, lectures in that, return from an absence for personal reasons, let's get on with it….. Applause, and then she stood up and took the lectern. "Thank you Director Glass, it's an honor to be here tonight; so, the history of mathematics in America. When most people think about science in American history they think about technology and discoveries relating to technology, everything from Franklin's kite to the atom bomb. But no one ever thinks about the math behind those discoveries….."

------

"All right, any questions?"

Morgan blinked and looked down at his watch. An hour and forty-five minutes on history and math, half of which he didn't understand, and yet he'd been so entertained he'd not even noticed the passing of time. Now, he liked his sister-in-law, but she had her faults, she couldn't drive to save her life, sometimes she was clumsy on her feet, and she was even more awkward in a conversation than her husband far more often than he cared to consider. But damn, the woman could give a lecture.

They all looked over as Pastor Green, of all people, got to his feet to ask a question. He almost preened in front of the audience, waiting a long moment until he'd captured the audience's attention. "I must ask you, _Doctor_, where is God in all this? This country was founded on Christian beliefs, Christian values. Surely these great men…and women," he clearly conceded, "must have in some small way somewhere acknowledged the Creator of all things in their work. I mean, without His loving guidance, this universe we are blessed to inhabit would not follow any logical structure at all. And yet in this entire lecture and exhibit, He never came up once. Shouldn't He be in there, somewhere; at least as a footnote, perhaps?"

Gwen smiled thinly. "Actually, _Pastor_, you might be in the wrong lecture. This is Mathematics, not Mythology. I believe God is being featured in the Anthropology lecture next Tuesday." That got laughter and some applause from the primarily academic crowd. She moved on to the next question on the other side of the room, dismissing the pretentious Preacher without another thought.

------

At the end the Director stepped to the podium again. "Thank you, thank you all. Thank you Doctor Reid. Now, it gives me great pleasure to announce the decision of the Science and Industry department committee to make this exhibit a permanent part of the Museum collection. It will remain on exhibit here, in the Arts and Industries building, for the foreseeable future. Thank you."

------

At the reception afterwards Gwen was the star of the evening. Along with the rest of the team that worked on the exhibit they answered a million questions, shook every hand, and were generally celebrated for a remarkable piece of work. It was a small exhibit, a small community, but for what it was, it was perfectly done. Everyone congratulated them, and especially her on their stunning success.

But the best reward of the evening was by far the smallest.

It came in the form of a little girl in a party dress, who by the end of the evening was falling asleep in her chair, being watched over by her soon-to-be father. Seeing that Spencer's knee was acting up from the way he was moving it, she decided to bundle miss sleepyhead Madeline into her arms and carry her to the car. But just as she went to pick her up she opened her eyes and gave her a sleepy smile. "I liked the lecture, Mummy. It was very good."

"Thank you, sweetheart." When she looked over Madeline's head at Spencer, her eyes were full of tears.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter twenty-one**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Madeline sat at the table and poked at her eggs. They looked like very good eggs, with mushrooms and cheese, and there were little rounds of sausage and muffins with berries on the table as well. But her stomach was doing knotty flip flops and making her really not want to eat all that much. I don't want to, she thought, I just don't want to.

Around her, Gwen and Spencer were discussing the morning paper, and anything else that came to mind, as they usually did over breakfast. "I'm considering buying us some of those new e-reader devices." Spencer brought up, as he set aside the paper.

Madeline heard Gwen make a very negative sound as she sat at the table herself. "Why?" She asked. "After the _1984_ Kindle debacle I think I'd prefer to keep our library in analog format."

"Yes, but the idea of being able to toss a few hundred books into my go bag at once has its appeal." He replied. "And don't tell me you wouldn't like to keep a full library in your bag with your knitting. Besides, that way no matter what happened someone would be able to keep up with her school work." Madeline knew she was the someone in question, and that Spencer's silence meant that he was looking at her. He's reading my behavior, she thought, he does it all the time, he can't help it. "Not hungry?" He asked her.

"I don't want to go today." She admitted. "I don't want to go back to the museum."

"Why not?" Spencer asked her.

Madeline thought a long moment. Sometimes things were hard to put into words; sometimes it was just hard to get her mouth in gear, still. But she knew that Spencer and Gwen were patient about that sort of thing, "Because I don't want to get sick again." She admitted. "It's all too much there."

"Hmm," Spencer seemed to consider while he buttered the warm inside of a muffin. "Well, we're going to a different museum this time, one that's a lot quieter. And the Tuckers won't be there, which will make it quieter still."

Madeline tipped her head and looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes, they tend to bring chaos with them wherever they go." Spencer considered some more as he chewed and swallowed. "Also, we checked ahead, they have some places to eat that have healthy things, so you won't have to worry about the food making you sick. And you won't have to ride any rides if you don't want to."

"Also," Gwen broke in. "If your head starts feeling funny we can go outside and sit until it settles down. Even if we have to break three or four times, no one will mind."

Madeline thought about it. That might make it okay, if she could stop and if her stomach didn't get sick. But there was one thing… "Can I wear dress up clothes again?"

"Yes, of course." Gwen said

Madeline smiled. It used to be that dress up clothes were awful pretty, but they got hot and itchy really quick. But Gwen had made these soft kind of under dresses that had all the seams on the outside somehow, which were okay. "Okay, I'll give it a try. Can I wear my new shoes?"

Madeline wondered why Gwen looked at Spencer like she was laughing. "Yes, you may." Madeline looked over at Spencer and saw that he had his eyebrow up. There was a joke going on here, she was just missing it. But that was okay too, that made her stomach unknot, and all of a sudden she was hungry.

A pile of eggs, three pieces of sausage and most of a muffin later and it was time to feed Gipsy. She didn't have a lot of chores, but one of them was to make sure Gipsy got fresh water before breakfast and dinner, and got her breakfast and dinner after they ate. She waited until Gipsy sat, then set down the bowl so she could wolf down her food. "Does this mean I can go outside in my pajamas?" Most of the time she got dressed before breakfast, but since today was a dress-up day everyone came down in pajamas, or something like it.

"Nope," Gwen answered her. "Gipsy can do her business on her own today. Go upstairs and get dressed. After you get your hair done you can go outside until we go, but if you get dirty its jeans and a t-shirt for the day."

"Bleck." With that Madeline turned and headed up the stairs.

* * *

"Your wrists are hurting today?" Spencer asked his wife quietly, as soon as Madeline was up the stairs. After breakfast and before he went to work they always took at least twenty minutes to sit and talk, just the two of them. He poured two cups of coffee, doctored them both, and brought them to the table. He eyed the way she was rubbing and wringing them and winced.

"Yes. There must be a storm coming in." Osteoarthritis, Gwen thought, part of Vallejo's ongoing legacy. Bastard. "I'll rub some of that heating balm into them and wear my mitts; I'll be fine for the day. But can you handle the after-breakfast stuff? Cooking breakfast really irritated them."

"Sure." It would take only moments to rinse and stack the dishes in the dishwasher. Combing and braiding a certain little girl's hair would take longer, but he'd learned to do it when his mother was sick, way back when, and then refreshed his skills when Gwen was in the hospital. It wasn't a big deal. "So, did you watch the Today show?"

"Of course, they had it posted on line."

"I thought you were ignoring them."

"Call it a masochistic impulse." Gwen closed her eyes and shook her head. "They said they'd gladly have more if The Lord gave them to them. Meaning they plan to continue to have unprotected sex, with the inevitable outcome. Can those people take no responsibility for their lives?"

Spencer looked at his wife, then his eyes drifted out the window. Sometime, he thought, you can just hear the synapses clicking at each other. "No, I don't believe they can. I think I just figured out the difference between their culture's idea of motherhood and our culture's idea of motherhood."

"Enlighten me." Something was clearly percolating in that brain of his. Gwen knew whatever it was it would be at least the beginnings of something good.

"They see motherhood, parenthood, as some inevitable physical act, like coughing up phlegm or a healthy trip to the toilet. It's something you take responsibility for after the fact because, after all, you did it and the results are there for the entire world to see. So of course they will welcome more children, lots more children, because they don't believe they have any choice in the matter. And they will continue to do the minimum for each child because they didn't choose to be responsible for them and they resent the subsequent loss of standard of living, and they will continue to insist that each child conform to their standard of perfection because that's the least each child can do to repay them for their selfish desire to come into existence. That's why they deny their physical urges; they used up all that capitol between conception and birth."

She considered her cooling coffee, "And our culture, by comparison?"

"We see parenthood as a deliberate commitment, one you choose to make. And because we see it as a choice we step back and recognize the enormity of the responsibility involved. They can't see it; their heads would snap if they realized what they had gotten themselves in for. Because we see it and accept it, we don't bring children into our lives until we can accept that full responsibility. We can grant them the freedom to lead their own lives because having them with us was our choice, not something they forced upon us. And they come into the world with full capitol, hell, even with us owing them because they were so desperately wanted and graced some of us with their presence."

Gwen thought about this a moment. "So how does this affect the current situation?"

"You really can't compare us to the Tuckers. We're making a deliberate commitment; they're going through an inevitable biological act. We're…." The hammer of good metaphor hit Spencer between the eyes. "… getting married, they're going poo."

Gwen couldn't help but laugh at that. "You know, given the sheer numbers…"

"And the way they act toward their children. But that metaphor also informs other aspects of this issue."

"How so?"

"In that metaphor, we became pregnant the moment we decided that yes, we wanted a family. Everything from picking a house with a big yard to upping the life insurance policies has been oriented toward that goal. In our culture we had looked at the decision, chose to accept it, and were methodically going about fulfilling it. After that it just became a matter of method. We became expectant parents when we said "we will take on the responsibility of caring for a child." And we will become parents when we say "we will take on the responsibility of caring for _this_ child." Their society doesn't really understand informed choice well, but that's not our culture, so we can ignore them." Spencer smiled at her. "Or try to, at least."

"Try to." Gwen sighed. "It's still hard when they think what you're doing is somehow shameful."

"But it's not." Spencer was warming to his idea now; his enthusiasm was starting to overflow. "They consider it shameful because it shows some kind of biological deficiency on someone's part, and that someone couldn't scoop their own mess. But if it's like a marriage it's nothing to be ashamed of, at all. We're standing up and making a public commitment to her, just like we did to each other. There's nothing wrong with that. And we should celebrate it in the same way."

"What, you mean a party?"

"Yes, why not? We should invite our friends over to support us in our commitment if they choose, and celebrate making something new, a new family. And…I don't know, new clothes, commitment jewelry of some kind? We'll sort the details, but doesn't it make more sense to look at it that way?"

Gwen smiled at him. That did have a dreamy sort of right sound to it. "Yes. It does, actually. And all this time with the foster care system is a test of our willingness to keep that commitment. But if it can't be tested, is it really that sound?" She leaned over and kissed him gently. "Thank you love, that helps."

Spencer rested his head against hers a moment. "You're welcome."

They turned at the "ewwww" coming from the stairs. Spencer saw Madeline standing there in her new favorite jumper, overall style in red calico with a blue checked trim over one of those white under dress things, and black and white high top sneakers.

Of course.

* * *

Personal Note: My apologies for this taking so long. I can only blame work.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter twenty-two**

**National Museum of Natural History**

**Washington DC**

"Hello Michelle." Derek Morgan called out to the most attractive lobbyist in DC.

Spencer looked up as Michelle Duplin, the CASA volunteer joined them. There really hadn't been a need to bring Morgan along, but Morgan had argued that Michelle could only properly evaluate the differences between the two families if the "variables between the two experiments were the same." Since Morgan rarely spoke in scientific-ese Spencer figured it was just an excuse to spend the day with Michelle and let it go. "Good morning."

"Morning Derek. Good morning Dr. Reid. Dr. Reid. Madeline." Michelle smiled at the family, although she had to chuckle inwardly a bit. Yes, they were dressed up again. Only this time the two women in the family almost matched, with Gwen's skirt matching Madeline's dress. "Madeline you look very nice today."

"Thank you." Madeline said. Wearing kinda sorta the same thing had been her idea. Last time she'd felt the odd one out with everyone else wearing the exact same thing. This time she felt like everyone knew who she belonged with.

After some small talk Spencer spoke up. "Shall we?" The small group moved toward the entrance. Spencer and Morgan did the "I am FBI, I bring my gun" dance through security while Gwen took Madeline and did the "Yes, this is a service dog" dance, and within a short time they were standing in the rotunda. "You know, I don't like what they did with the American History museum." Spencer confessed, looking up at the neoclassical rotunda, with its regular pattern of ornate columns and galleries. "It feels like an aluminum shoe box now. But this, _this_ is what a proper museum should be."

Morgan looked over at him. "You do not live in this century, do you?'

"Not if I can help it."

Even Gwen had to chuckle a little. "You know, they've renovated most of the exhibits over the past ten years."

"Yes, but they haven't disturbed this space. This gives you a sense of the weight and grandeur of human knowledge." Spencer looked around and sighed. "I hope they leave it alone."

Madeline turned from where she had been reading the information about the giant African bull elephant, poised to charge through the museum, and paying no attention whatsoever to the architecture. "Can we go see the butterflies?"

Spencer sighed.

* * *

Any writer who claims that anyone, fictional or not, can get over trauma quickly and easily is full of shit, Gwen thought.

Now it had been years since she was in captivity. And she had worked hard to heal ever since, both medically and psychologically. But the scars remained, she would never have her own children, she would always have arthritis in her wrists, she would always jump if she was bent over and someone came up behind her, and she now had a mortal fear of cockroaches. So when after the butterflies they went to see the bugs, and one of the curators took a Madagascar hissing Cockroach out of its enclosure and put it in her daughter's hand, she could feel herself starting to panic.

Leave it to Morgan to notice. Spencer had crouched down to answer questions about the bug, which had totally captured Madeline's attention. And Michelle was observing the interaction. But Morgan noticed she was backing away and turned to her, thankfully cutting off her view of the thing. "You ok?"

Gwen shook her head. I'm fine, she thought, I'm clean and dressed and standing with my family and friends in one of the finest museums in the world. But I remember what it's like to be tied up in an old barn and not to be able to close things that ought to be closed and to feel them crawling on your skin and not be able to… "No. Not really. It's…I can't…cockroaches. But my problems are not her problems and are not going to be her problems. So you all stay with the roaches and I'm going to go…hang out with the grasshoppers. And I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Morgan asked. At Gwen's nod he went back to the group. A few minutes later they moved on, and he found her calmed down and admiring a very happy praying mantis.

* * *

It was, Michelle thought, a very different experience.

Even though there were two other adults along, and most people would be naturally drawn to conversing with those other adults, inevitably either Spencer or Gwen, usually both, were focusing on Madeline at any given time, pointing out details, adding more information to what was already presented in the exhibits, and answering questions, lots and lots of questions. Madeline seemed to be full of them, she'd noticed that last week, and both of these adults were natural teachers who almost couldn't resist answering them. This was, in her mind, a better situation for any child, but especially a naturally gifted one. Better than having the adults ignore you in favor of answering questions about the sheer number of children you'd produced.

When it was getting close to lunchtime Gwen proposed a break outside first.

"Noooo." Madeline almost whined. "I want to see the dinosaurs! You promised!"

"They've had dinosaur fossils on display here since 1899. They're not going to suddenly disappear in the next hour." Gwen calmly replied, taking in the fidgeting, the way the girl's hands were moving, the almost whine. If she was starting to feel over stimulated then Madeline had to be even closer to the edge. "Let's take a break and then get some lunch so we can properly appreciate them."

Even though Madeline was pouting Spencer and Gwen resolutely took her out the front door, across the street and onto the National Mall.

Eschewing all convention, Gwen found a shady tree near to a couple of benches. She pulled a well-folded cloth out of her backpack and spread it on the ground at the base of the tree. "Come on, sit with me." She tugged Madeline down next to her, leaned back against the trunk and then closed her eyes.

"I don't want to." Madeline was still at the point of almost whining. "My head's all buzzy." It kind of hurt, but not really and everything felt kind of twitchy and wrong and too much and it was all making her cranky as anything.

"If you sit for a while that will go away, remember."

Madeline made an uncertain noise, but sat back anyway.

As there was no way his knee was going to let him get down there with them, Spencer took the bench, joined by Michelle and Morgan. "So, it's nap time?" Michelle asked Spencer.

"Not exactly, it's not unusual for children with Asperger's or high functioning Autism to have co-morbid Sensory Processing Disorder. If they're hypersensitive to certain sensations they can become easily stimulated and react negatively. Most parents would interpret that as "overtired" or as deliberately antagonistic behavior when it's really closer to a pain stimulus reaction." Spencer heard Morgan chuckling as he fell into lecture mode, and ignored it. "The simplest way to cope with Sensory Processing Disorder is to recognize when you're becoming over stimulated and remove yourself from the source of stimulation until your nervous system has a chance to calm down. One of our goals in treatment is for Madeline to learn for herself when she needs to step out of a situation."

"Treatment?" Michelle asked him.

Spencer nodded. "Yes, we have her working with an occupational therapist twice a week in addition to her work with a child psychologist. The occupational therapist is trying to help her learn to adjust and adapt to different sensations."

"Why is she seeing a child psychologist?"

"To help her work out her issues dealing with the loss of her parents and the subsequent trauma."

"Most foster kids see a social worker with counseling training once a week for that."

Spencer shrugged. "We wanted her to have more support so we arranged for additional therapy out of pocket." He'd refill their large project fund the next time they went out to visit his Mother. His goal was never to get rich playing Blackjack, just make enough to keep their savings account comfortably padded.

Michelle sat back, impressed. Not only did this family really care and really get the issues facing this child, they were willing to put their money where their mouth was. That was a lot less common than she would like. "All right, I heard you were also primarily homeschooling her?"

Morgan leaned forward and interrupted. "Michelle, if you get him started on that we'll never get to lunch."

Spencer frowned at him as Michelle laughed. "Speaking of lunch we were planning on the museum café, down on the ground floor, if that's all right."

Michelle looked past him, to where a kiosk was doing a brisk business. "Why not out here? It's a lovely day for it."

"Some of the things people with Asperger's or Autism can be sensitive to are chemicals in their food. We don't know if she is sensitive to anything and if so what it might be, so for now we're trying to avoid too many overly processed foods. I'd be afraid that pizza or hot dogs would cause a repeat of last week's incident." He had no desire to see Madeline leaning over a trash can again. "They have roasted chicken sandwiches in the café, salads, that kind of thing."

Michelle nodded her agreement and they started to sort going. "May I ask a personal question?" When Spencer shrugged and nodded she went on. "What doesn't sit right with you?"

"Carrageenan. It's a fairly common thickening agent used primarily in commercially produced dairy based desserts, inexpensive ice creams, pre-mixed puddings, milkshake base, some non-dairy creamers. It's used in beer manufacturing as a clarifying agent, and in many diet sodas to replace the mouth feel of glucose. It's also a common thickener in gels such as shampoo, toothpaste and personal lubricant."

"Do I want to know how you found that out?" Morgan muttered, no louder than his teammate could hear.

Spencer ignored that as well. "A carrageenan solution was also used in the _Aliens_ movies as the dripping saliva of the she-monster."

Michelle turned to Morgan. "Is he always like this?"

Morgan nodded, "Oh yeah."

Michelle smiled and turned back to Spencer. "And if I may ask what about your wife?"

"We've found she doesn't do well with High Fructose Corn Syrup. It's a very common manufactured sweetening agent."

"What's that in?" Michelle asked.

"Nearly everything," Gwen replied from over by the tree. Finished with the somewhat formalized version of the calming techniques that kept her sane so long she opened her eyes and nudged Madeline. "Feel better?"

Madeline certainly had not wanted to stop having fun, not for anything. The last thing she'd wanted to do was go sit in the park and do nothing. But now that she'd sat for a little while, smelled the grass and felt the sun on her face, and just stopped _moving_ for a while, she felt a lot better. Her stomach didn't feel topsy turvy anymore; her head had stopped hurting, and best of all she no longer felt like she had ants crawling and twitching beneath her skin. She opened her eyes and turned to Gwen and the others. "Yep."

"Let's go then." Gwen got to her feet with Madeline's "help", gathered her cloth, and took her husband's arm, and they headed back to the museum.

Or attempted to.

As they went up the steps Michelle was the first to notice the camera crew. "I wonder what's going on." She said.

Gwen shrugged. "I don't know. When I was working down here it seemed like there was something being filmed every day. But, I didn't see anything on the calendar."

When they stepped through the doors, the reason for the camera crew became obvious. The rotunda was swarming with children, identically dressed children.

"Did they know we were coming here today?" Spencer asked Michelle, as he looked over to where Madeline was suddenly holding Gwen's hand extra tight. It wasn't just the Tuckers; he recognized the Green children, the Brantwerth children, and a number of others. There were easily close to sixty children in there of all ages, as well as their parents, all followers of Pastor Green. It's a small army, he thought, or it will be someday.

"I didn't tell them." Michelle replied. "But it's possible someone at CPS let it slip, they're not known for always having the best security."

"Or vetting their employees' choice of religious leaders I'll bet." Ignoring the pain and the sharp popping sound in his knee, Spencer crouched down to be at Madeline's eye level. "Would you be horribly disappointed if we saw the dinosaurs another day?"

Madeline wasn't looking at him. She was looking around at the noisy, running, yelling crowd of children. Slowly she shook her head.

"Hey, Reid," Morgan nudged him a little.

Spencer turned and looked over his shoulder. Standing against the far wall was Jeddidiah Green, who raised two fingers and his thumb in the traditional firearm shape and pointed it at him and Morgan. "I thought they weren't supposed to gather." Spencer said.

"All it would take was a sympathetic judge to modify the conditions of bail." Morgan said. "The likelihood of that was in the profile."

"I'm not on the case. I haven't seen the profile." Spencer replied. Then he turned to Gwen and Madeline. "Want to have lunch in The Castle?" He asked.

"I want to go home." Madeline told him. This wasn't just too busy and not fun anymore. This was the second level of the Inferno again, and they were going to whirl her off to somewhere even more awful than that.

Spencer looked down to where she was clutching Gwen's hand on one side and Gipsy's harness on the other. We'll have to come back, he thought, I don't want her afraid of this place, of this grand temple of science and reason. I don't want her afraid of anything. "All right, let's go home."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter twenty-four**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

It was Friday. Granted almost all days were good now, Madeline thought, but Fridays were perhaps especially good.

It had been a few weeks since their trip to the museum. Since then, no one here at home had brought up Becky's family once, which was fine, even though she kind of missed Becky sometimes. Instead life had fallen into a quiet, predictable rhythm. Every morning she got up, got dressed, and came downstairs to set the table before breakfast. After breakfast she fed Gipsy, and Spencer would help her with her hair while the dog ate. If he wasn't home, Gwen would help, but she could tell it made her wrists hurt sometimes. Once her hair was braided she and Gipsy would run outside, off the porch, past the flowers and through the vegetable garden to the far back where a big, old tree had a swing that felt almost like you were flying. A little while later, if Spencer was home he'd come out on the porch. That was her sign to come back to the house to get her picture taken with Gwen, and then give him a hug before he left for the day. If he ended up going off somewhere he would print out the picture to always have it with him. Gwen didn't know why it had to be every day, but it did, and it wasn't that big a deal. If he wasn't home then Gwen would just call her in. Either way, once past that it was time to do school work. She was studying Advanced Math, English grammar and composition, Ancient history, Chemistry, and Latin. She was also learning piano, and she had to do regular book reports. She did much of her schoolwork in the mornings in the big library, and would work until lunchtime, which was usually a cup of soup, a sandwich, and some kind of fruit. Unlike at Becky's house it was all real food, real cheese, real butter, real bread with seeds and nuts in it, that kind of thing.

On Saturday, if Spencer was home, they went to run errands in the morning andspent the afternoon working on stuff at home, like how Spencer was trying to fix up the basement. She had no idea what he was doing down there, but it involved a lot of pounding, and once some bad language that had Gwen laughing. If Spencer wasn't home they just treated Saturday like Monday, except without  
the laundry.

On Sundays they had church in the morning, which meant Sunday school with Christy and Kim, two of the new friends she had made, and then if Spencer was home usually a museum or something after lunch out. If he wasn't they would just come home because they had a driver and Gwen said she didn't want them to have to take them all over.

Mondays were quiet days, when they recovered from the weekend, Gwen did all the laundry, and Mrs. Gilchrist came from the school district to check on her schoolwork from the week before and help her sort what she had to do the rest of the week. She was supposed to be learning something called "time  
management" and "self-management skills" and "organizing herself," so that she could eventually sort it all on her own and know all her homework would get done. This was the trickiest part sometimes, making sure it all got done by Friday. Then in the afternoon Lucy would come by for piano lessons, one for her and sometimes one for Gwen.

On Tuesday and Thursday she and Gwen would get on their bikes and go over to Willow Ridge School, which was something called a continuation school. Everyone there did most of their work at home, and only came in for the things they couldn't do at home, or because they needed special help. She took one hour of Chemistry with the big kids, while Gwen taught math in the room across the hall, and then one hour of occupational therapy, which involved doing some of the hardest stuff ever, to try to get used to the sensations. These days they were spending a lot of time learning to walk a balance beam and turn a  
somersault. Gwen usually sat and watched which made it feel safer. After that there was time to hang out on the playground, usually with Christy and Kim again, once their classes let out. It was a much nicer kind of playground than the one at her old school, because there was grass instead of pavement, and because all the moms hung out at the far end, far enough away that you could play, but close enough that no one played rough.

Wednesdays were her least favorite days, because on Wednesdays they went to the counseling center. There she'd meet with Mrs. Bearsden for a little while, who asked her how things were going at home and with school, and then afterwards she'd meet with Dr. Linda for the longest time. Dr. Linda always wanted to talk about her Mom and Dad dying, and missing Becky, and about Benedict and what happened, which was kind of okay. It felt good to have someone listen, understand and keep all her secrets as they ought to be kept. But at the same time, it was never what you would call fun. She wished she could just forget about it all, but Dr. Linda said you never forgot the hard stuff, so it was better to learn to be okay with remembering it. Gwen met with someone called Karen, and she never looked like she was having fun after either.

But Fridays, Fridays were maybe the best days, because Friday afternoons they went to the Market.

**Fredericksburg Farmer's and Crafter's Market**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Madeline all but skipped along at Gwen's side. The Farmer's Market was one of the best things to do during the week. She almost always ran into friends there; there was always something new to explore. It was outdoors which kept it from being too overwhelming most of the time, and best of all, her allowance was burning a hole in her pocket. "Can I go look at the book booth?" She asked Gwen.

"When we get down there," Gwen replied.

"Aww," Madeline pouted, but just the tiniest bit. One of the used book stores set up a booth every week where they always stopped to look, but the sooner you got there the better the selection. For now she stuck by Gwen's side, pulling the wagon while Gwen kept Gipsy on her harness and very close in the  
crowd.

"This way first," Gwen led Madeline down toward the farm stands. She needed five dozen eggs this week, and needed to place her meat and poultry orders, and then she was going to need vegetables for that soup, and lettuce….Bother, why did it seem more crowded than usual this week. She watched a woman go by followed by a flock of children.

"Hey, there's Christy!" Madeline waved to her friend once she turned her way.

"Hey Madeline," Christy grinned when she caught up with them. "Hello Dr. Reid, Mom's back down there at the bakery booth. I was just going to the honey table."

Madeline immediately turned to Gwen. "Can I go?" Best booth there, Madeline thought. Five honey straws for a dollar or ten sticks of hard candy, of a kind Spencer and Gwen said were okay for her to have, because they were all natural. Not only could she stock up for the week and still have lots of money left over for books but Spencer sent her with five dollars to stock up his bag and the jar on his desk. As far as she was concerned that made it the most important stop.

Gwen looked around. The table in question was two slots down, on this side of the street. She was going with Christy, and both girls would be in full view the entire time, "All right, but stay out where I can see you."

"Yes!" Madeline grinned and both girls hurried off.

Gwen stood at the poultry table, filling out her order form, occasionally looking up to make sure the girls were still there, intent on the important task of getting the correct balance of flavors of hard candy sticks. At one point when she looked up she noticed another large group of women and children  
going by, clutching what looked to be tour books. "Is something going on in town?" she asked the farmer who owned the booth.

"Some kind of church group, or so I heard," He replied. "They've been touring the battlefield."

Gwen nodded. Groups touring the Civil War sites were not unheard of. She finished her order and left with a smile, turning to join the girls and pick up a jar of honey herself. But Christy was just standing there, and there was no sign of Madeline.

Gwen fought down a wave of panic followed by a wave of anger, and immediately headed that way. When she got closer she found that Christy was watching Madeline, who had just gone a few steps between the booths.

And Madeline, her face pale and frightened, was standing next to Becky Tucker. But she was looking at Benedict Tucker, standing in a doorway not fifty feet away.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter twenty-four**

**Fredericksburg Farmer's and Crafter's Market**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Gwen froze at the sight of the tall, husky young man leaning so nonchalantly against the building. He looked up from the girls then, and gave her a wide, oh so pleased with himself grin, the kind of grin she had seen too many times before. Without a word, without taking her eyes off him she reached down and took Madeline's hand. "Christy." She said to the young girl, a note of command in her voice unheard since her days as a university Professor. And maybe not even then. "I want you to take the wagon back to your mother and ask her to keep it for me until I come get it, all right? Tell her I had to leave on an emergency. Go straight back to her, right now."

Christy, deeply confused, looked around and blinked. "Yes, Dr. Reid." She recognized that note in a grown-ups voice and got moving.

Once Christy had started on her way Gwen spoke to the other girl. "Becky, I want you to go back to your mother. Right now."

Even Becky recognized it when a grown-up really meant something. "Yes Ma'am." She said and took off toward the door of the hotel.

As soon as Becky was indoors Gwen tugged Madeline back out into the street. "Come on pumpkin, time to go."

Madeline was not about to protest. She didn't think that she had ever been that scared. She clung to Gwen's hand as they turned and headed down the center of the street.

Gwen's first thought was to get to the Sheriff's station before Benedict could tell the other Sons of Liberty and have them bracketed. Surely the other Sons were around, she thought, that church group touring the battlefield must be one of Pastor Green's and those boys are too chickenshit to try anything on their own, she thought. So get to the Sheriff's station, which is in the same building as CPS, report everything and sit tight until Spencer got there. Which he would, he always came for her. Always.

But when she turned to go down that side street she saw two men of about the right age waiting there, one standing next to a van. The two immediately started walking toward them, one cutting across the street to walk down the opposite sidewalk. Oh fuck me, she thought as her tongue froze in her throat, we've already been bracketed. You always have to assume your enemy is as intelligent as you are, she thought, that way you never underestimate him. But you must also make allowances for the stupid decision as well, the one you wouldn't take but he wouldn't consider too risky or too dumb. Time for plan B.

Thankfully she had one.

She continued walking down the center of the closed off street, past booths and tables, toward the end of it, as the two men walked down either sidewalk, parallel to them, keeping them from leaving the street. The crowds were starting to thin a bit. Eventually they would run out of closed off road, and have to cross one busy intersection to get there. Her biggest concern was that van, it would be far too easy to have them block the crosswalk and pull them inside. Far too easy. She could picture what they would do to her once they had her in a van, what they would do to her daughter….

They reached the end of the Market, with less than a block to go to the barricade. She looked down as Madeline spun her head, looking at the two who kept looking at them and grinning. "M…m…m…" she tried to say, but nothing came out.

Gwen looked down at her, gave her hand a squeeze, and gave her a reassuring smile. Yes, she understood, her throat was locked as well. Then she looked down at Gipsy, who was ever so obediently walking in perfect heel on her harness. And that gave her an idea. She tucked Madeline's hand into her belt look, giving it a squeeze to keep it there, and then rummaged in her bag.

A few moments later a blind woman, walking with a little girl on one side and a guide dog on the other, walked boldly through the center of the intersection. Cars slammed on their brakes, causing an instant traffic jam, as drivers leaned out their windows and started yelling. By the time the van untangled itself from the traffic they were already to the other side and walking up the ramp to the train station.

**Fredericksburg Train Station and Northbound Train**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

The only bad part of this plan, Gwen thought, was that she had to telegraph her intent.

She led Madeline over to the northbound platform and sat, right out in the middle of everything. This being a fairly busy commuter station, and with Market and Friday and all, there was a reasonable crowd gathered waiting to take the train north. It provided very little cover, unfortunately, as Gipsy was the only dog on the platform. And so if anyone wanted to know which train to board, the next train north was a safe bet.

As soon as she sat Gwen pulled out her phone and started texting as quickly as she could. She sent one message after the other, until Madeline gave her sleeve a tug. She looked over to find that one of the Sons of Liberty was leaning against a post, smiling at them in a creepy, wicked sort of way. She looked the other way and spotted the other, who puckered up and blew them a kiss. At another tug from Madeline she turned and saw the third buying tickets.

Well, all righty then, she thought. If they were going to be that brazen about it.

Just as a distinct, familiar rumble started coming down the track she lifted her phone and snapped a picture of the first without even bothering to hide her actions. Then she turned and snapped a picture of the other, who even ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it for the shot. And when the third came to join the other two he took his picture as well.

When the train came Gwen showed their passes at the door, then boarded and sat where she had a clear path to the door on the other side. She sent along all three pictures, then held Madeline's hand and waited. The three boys came in and took up seats at various points in the thankfully not overcrowded car. As the train got underway the nearest one leaned over, caught Madeline's eye, and made a very rude, very obvious gesture with his lips and thumb.

At that moment Gwen's fear turned to unimagined anger. How dare they!

She pushed Madeline back in her seat, so that monster could not maintain eye contact as her lips tightened with anger and she heard the three boys laugh. She no longer looked at any of them, but kept her gaze on the window, and the passing countryside. It was only a ten-minute trip, but it was rather taking forever.

And then her phone rang.

**Quantico Train Station**

**Quantico, VA**

The Train station in Quantico, VA is a low, square building with picture windows facing both the platform and the parking lot. It houses a ticket counter on one end with a baggage/security room behind it, and a snack bar and bathroom at the other. In between are tall tables and stools and some benches where commuters can enjoy their morning coffee and doughnut before either catching a train or one of the numerous transport vans that take people to and from the various offices on base. Quantico itself houses not only the FBI academy and headquarters but is also a US Marine base and the home of the USMC Officer Training School. As a result of all this the local law enforcement is handled by USMC Military Police, security cordons are a regular occurrence, and nearly all of the commuters who use the station are utterly familiar with both.

So when the train pulled into the station and both ends of the platform were blocked by military Humvees no one gave it a second thought. And neither did the three members of the Sons of Liberty who were onboard the train. But Gwen was well aware of the increased security, and how twitchy the MP's were sure to be. She held Madeline's hand tightly, keeping her as close as Gipsy, preventing her from running to and through the station to the tall figure waiting in the parking lot on the other side and visible through that double set of picture windows.

Gwen slowed a little as the mass of people crowded through the single door into the station, intent on getting to the transport vans or their waiting cars on the other side. She deliberately lingered, trying to make it seem like she wasn't, the better to throw off the Sons. Finally it was just her and Madeline and Gipsy, with only a couple of people behind them, and then the Sons last. And as soon as they were through the first doors and inside the station the few people behind her pushed past the woman with the dog and child and the Sons were right behind them.

As she kept walking , calmly and steadily, intent on her goal, Derek Morgan stepped from behind the ticket counter and stopped the three Sons in their tracks by getting nose-to-nose with the leader. As he did so several Marine MP's came around the various corners, surrounding the Sons, and David Rossi rose from one of the tables. "Can we help you gentlemen?" He asked.

The leader, who was standing nose-to-nose with Morgan, staring him fearlessly in the eye, answered for all three. "Naw. We was just passing through."

"Just passing through." Rossi nodded. "Three men out on bail on charges of domestic terrorism just passing through a secure military base? I don't think so. You're under arrest on suspicion of terrorist activities." As the Morgan and the MP's moved to cuff them he looked the leader in the eye. "This is a Federal charge on Federal property." He said. "I don't think you'll find the judge as lenient with your bail terms as the one your 'Daddy' knows back home."

As they finished arresting the Sons and dragged them out to the waiting Humvees one of the MP's came around the corner from the baggage /security room. "Sir." He said. "Our detectors have picked up another problem.

Outside in the parking lot Spencer picked Madeline up in his arms and gave her a hug. "Hey, you okay? Can you talk yet?" He asked. When she shook her head he hugged her again, and then set her in the back seat of the SUV. "Okay, get your seatbelt on." While the girl did so he turned and pulled his wife in close, holding her tight for a long moment. He didn't even bother to ask her, he knew better. Once Gwen was safely in the front seat he opened the back gate and closed it behind Gipsy, then drove them all to safe haven.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**BAU Headquarters**

**Quantico, VA**

If Madeline was grateful for anything, it was that no one talked on the drive to Spencer's office. He didn't put the radio on, he didn't roll the window down, he didn't do anything but move them in the quiet, safe box from one place to the other. The only sound was Gipsy breathing in the back of the SUV.

Once they got there he took them to the desk and very quietly checked them in to the building. Once they had visitor's badges clipped on, even on Gipsy's collar, they went up to the BAU, and then up the steps and down to someone's office. Once there Gwen dropped onto a couch and pulled her in down next to her.

Spencer folded his legs and sat on the floor in front of her. "Voice back on yet?" He asked very quietly.

Madeline took a big breathe. Breathe and breathe and…"I…th…think so. Th…that was sc…scary."

"I know it was. I'm sorry they scared you. But you and Gwen did exactly the right thing. You're safe here, you know."

Madeline nodded. They were in the middle of the FBI building, the real deal. It had better be safe. "whose office is this?"

"Morgan's. He won't mind if you sit here a while, or I think Penelope has that video game you like booted up, if you want to go play."

Well, that would take her mind off things, that game was hard. "I think I'd like to, if that's okay."

"Sure. Come on, bring Gipsy with you."

Madeline got up, once she untangled herself from Gwen's arms. She looked back, because Gwen had been holding on awfully tight. "Are you okay?" She asked her foster-mom.

Gwen smiled and nodded. "I'm going to guess she's having a bit more trouble getting her voice back on." Spencer said, to which Gwen nodded even harder. "Let's go get you settled in with Penelope and then I'll come back and help her."

"Okay." Yep, Spencer could handle anything. She and Gipsy followed him down to the conference room.

* * *

By the time Spencer came back, Gwen was already trying to breathe out the lock in her throat. He dropped onto Morgan's loveseat and pulled her into his arms. "Th...th…the w…way they were l…looking at h…her I could just s...see Vallejo." She stuttered out as she shook out her fear in the safety of his arms.

"Shhhh. I know. She's safe now. You're safe now. We got them. It's okay?"

"Is it? What if they figured out where we live, Spencer? I don't want to lose another home. My m…mother ruined my Grandparent's home, Vallejo ruined CalTech for us, now we're going to lose our home here."

"You don't know that."

"Well, we might. If we have to go into Witness Protection to keep Madeline safe I will, you know that. But that doesn't mean I have to like it… at all."

"I understand."

"I just won't let that happen to her again. I won't. I won't." Spencer felt a damp spot and knew there were nightmares in the immediate future. Well, it was understandable.

There was a sound outside and then Morgan stuck his head around the door. "We have a problem."

* * *

They headed down to Garcia's lair, where they found Hotch and Rossi waiting. "The WMD detection system picked up potential explosive residue as the suspects came through the detectors around the station doors." Hotch said. "I, um, took the liberty of calling up your home security net."

Ever since what happened with Hotch and George Foyet, aka The Reaper, every member of the team had put some kind of home security system in place, mostly just perimeter alarms and panic buttons. Spencer and Gwen had gone ahead and put a 24/7 monitoring system in just about every room that the FBI could call up in case of an emergency. Technically they could cut it out of any room at the push of a button, but they never did. "My luck the minute I cut it out an Unsub will invade our bedroom." Spencer had said at the time. "We're married, get over it." So far as he knew the video feed was quietly recorded somewhere in Garcia's system, never looked at until now. No one had used it for Internet Porn anyway.

But now, as he quietly watched, two of Tucker's sons we're making their way into the kitchen.

"Those goddamned fucking pieces of shit bastards!" Gwen said. Then she spun around and held up a finger to her husband. "One word, Spock! One!" Spencer held up his hands, he wasn't going to say a word about her choice of language, not today. No one said anything, especially not Hotch, who had heard that tone from Haley, or Rossi, who had heard it from each of his three wives in turn. They Knew Better.

As they watched at least three of the Sons of Liberty enter through the kitchen and started prowling through the house. Spencer thought of at least one way he might be able to reclaim a corner of this situation. He leaned over and whispered to Garcia, then took Gwen by the shoulders and turned her to face the monitor just as the library camera took over the screen and the Sons found the room. "Look. Look. I think their minds just exploded," he stage-whispered as they watched the young men's eyes widen at the sight of that many books.

That at least got a laugh out of her. If nothing else, that was a bit of a victory. "I'm going to go play video games with our daughter." She told him, "You get to deal with this." With that she firmly kissed him, leaving him to turn pink in front of the others, and then left them to their work.

No one said anything for a few minutes. Then one of the smaller screens caught Rossi's attention. "Garcia, put the basement up." She did and there were two of the Sons doing something to the furnace.

"What are they doing?' Spencer asked as he watched them unscrew something on the something and start pouring a bag of something into something else.

"Getting you a new furnace," Morgan told him. "I told you to replace that thing."

"Yes, but it's so quietly efficient."

"Yeah, well, now that they've added Ammonium nitrate fertilizer to the fuel oil in the tank, it's also highly explosive. As soon as that burner kicks on in the winter, there goes the house."

"Wait, they're setting a bomb in a Federal Agent's house?" Garcia asked, shocked.

"Yep, and they're making it look like a faulty furnace." Rossi told her. "The first night it gets cold enough to turn that on, boom, no more witness against Benedict."

"Well, now we have them on recording." Spencer commented. "That ought to take care of the rest of them."

"Yeah, the boys," Morgan said. "But there'll be another crop coming up right behind them. The one thing that crowd has a lot of is kids."

"Wait." Something caught Hotch's eye this time. "Garcia, switch to the attic camera."

Garcia did, causing it to fill the main screen. Spencer felt his stomach flip as one of the boys started going through the files in his home office. "Don't turn on the computer, don't turn on the computer, don't turn on…" He made a wordless sound of protest as the computer was turned on.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"The Vallejo files. Gwen's been using them as part of her therapy. They're going to see." He couldn't look, he had to look away from the awed, overjoyed, amazed looks in those bastard's eyes as they watched the videos of his wife.

"Actually we might be able to use this." Rossi said. "Garcia, aren't those files encrypted?"

"Yeah, you need special software to decrypt them, and a key card and password to activate that software. It keeps them from getting sent out over the net." She looked over her shoulder at Spencer. "You forgot to log out, didn't you?" She told him.

"In my defense, I didn't expect someone to invade my house." He replied.

"Well, let that be a lesson to you."

"Garcia, can you upload the decryption software to someone's computer without their knowing?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, I can attach it to a virus and squirt it to them. Why?"

Hotch looked over at him. "I see where you're going with this. You're asking a lot."

"I know, but it's probably our only shot." Rossi replied.

By now Spencer was utterly confused. "What?"

Rossi looked back at him. "When is your next custody hearing?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Temporary Officer Housing**

**United States Marine Corps Base- Quantico**

**Quantico, VA**

It was, Spencer thought, a very nice gesture.

Only yesterday they had watched the Sons of Liberty plant explosives in their basement and steal the contents of the computer he kept in the attic. Later last night, Hotch and Rossi had snooped with Garcia as members of the Tucker, Green and other families related to the Sons had watched video after video of his wife enduring every conceivable humiliation. Garcia had been able to remotely activate their web cams, allowing them to identify who was watching the now decoded videos. Spencer had not watched. He did not want to remember the expressions on their faces as they watched what they thought was his wife starring as a porn actress. He might have to kill them for that.

As a nice gesture, while their home was being torn apart by the bomb squad and Morgan to get the now explosive furnace out of it's hundred year home, while Emily sat with Garcia and monitored the computer activity, while Rossi set up the sting operation, and while Madeline and Gipsy spent the day with Uncle Hotch and Jack, they were spending the day in guest quarters on the Marine base next to Quantico. They had moved in last night, and would stay until after the hearing where they expected the Sons and their fathers to be arrested. It was pleasant enough, as comfortable as any hotel they stayed in when out on a case, and extremely safe. Once the head of that snake was snipped off, they ought to be able to return home to peace, privacy and a new furnace to boot.

Having Hotch arrange for a day off parenting duties was a very nice gesture.

Not that it was helping much.

Spencer rolled over and pressed a kiss to Gwen's shoulder. One would think, given the sudden free time, that they would be all over each other. So far that had not been the case, her lack of interest was quite clear. But getting back in bed established an intimacy, which was a beginning. "Okay, talk." He knew her well enough to know that she just needed a little push.

"It's the utter lack of privacy." She muttered into her pillow. "While I agree that this is a brilliant plan, and while I would do anything to keep Madeline safe, you know that by the time this is over, we might as well just shag on the courthouse lawn. It's not like it will be anything anyone hasn't already seen."

"And it bothers you that they will – have – seen you like that." There was no point in denying it.

"No, it bothers me that we have nothing private in our lives. Between the Vallejo investigation and then the fertility treatments and the home study and all the therapy and now this, we literally have nothing left in our life that isn't written down in a file somewhere. I just wish there was something special, something sacred to just the two of us."

He considered that a moment. Upon reflection, he rather didn't think that's exactly what she was trying to say. "Does it matter? Remember what Ethan used to call us, true companions, forever, no matter what? So what does it matter if everyone knows or not, that's not going to change what we are."

"I know." She sighed. "Everything just feels so torn open right now." She thought a moment, red curls falling over her face as she propped herself on her elbows to look over at him. "Well, except that."

"Except what?"

"Even when things were at their worst, when I should have been utterly humiliated, I knew that no matter what, you would love me; that I never had, or would have, anything to be ashamed of, ever, because you would always understand. That what we have was and would always be true, no matter what. Vallejo never understood that. Those bastards who are watching those videos right now will never understand that."

Spencer nuzzled her hair a moment. "We were discussing it once, back in school. Math is the one pure, true subject you know. Even if nothing existed, even if there was no sentient life to comprehend it, even it there was nothing but pure vacuum, the mathematics of the universe would still be true." He rolled back over to grab the laptop. "What do you consider to be the most perfect mathematical expression of truth?"

"Oh, that's easy, Euler's Identity, why?"

"I have an idea."

* * *

Later that night, as Madeline slept on the fold out bed, with Gipsy keeping her company, Spencer and Gwen met in the bathroom. Today's expedition had worked beautifully, Spencer thought, she had gone from melancholy to outright giggly. "Okay," she said, once they had carefully cleaned and treated the small red marks, "hit the lights."

Once the light was out the small black light she was holding revealed the small, hidden, matching tattoos on their forearms, tattoos of a simple, yet profound mathematical equation. Once they healed they would be invisible in normal light and yet they would always know they were there. It had to be mathematical, for the past they shared and the first love that had brought them together. And it had to be something very real, and yet the existence only known to them, much like the love they held between them.

"You know, there's a whole 'nother layer to this." Spencer felt he had to point out.

"What's that?"

"That first math seminar we attended together, the one where we met afterwards, was on Euler's contribution to mathematics. No one else would know that."

She looked up at him and gave him very slow smile. "Take me to bed."

**Fredericksburg County Courthouse**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

"This is an informal hearing concerning the placement of the minor child Madeline Martins." The judge began a week later, once everyone had been sworn in. "Now, just because it's informal does not mean we don't have to play nice."

Spencer felt the tension in Gwen's body. They sat on one side of the court, with their lawyer and social worker, well away from everyone else. Pastor Green, Bob Tucker, and a couple of other men also clustered in one space. Michelle Duplin, the CASA volunteer was there as well, sitting by herself as fitting Madeline's independent representative. And the representatives from CPS were there as well. Madeline was tucked safely in the Judge's chambers with a bailiff and an FBI agent to keep her safe.

"All right," the Judge began. "Why don't we begin with…"

"Your Honor," Pastor Green stood up fluidly, "If it please the court we would like to bring something to the court's attention."

"And you are?" The judge asked.

"Pastor Robert Green, Your Honor. I am a member of the bar in Arkansas, and I have information I should like to present as a friend of the court."

"All right, proceed Reverend Green. Be aware that you are under oath."

"It has come to our attention that this woman, Gwendolyn Reid, is not fit to be granted custody of this or any other minor child."

"And why is that, Reverend Green?"

"She has taken part in the creation of pornographic materials. She has starred in a number of unfortunate films of the most disgusting and perverse nature."

"Is that so?" The judge asked, quietly and evenly.

"Yes, Your Honor. We can show you right here." With that he picked up his laptop, turned it to the judge, and hit play.

The sounds that came out of that thing, the way Gwen gripped his hand, it was all Spencer could do not to go over there and punch the bastard. Patience, he thought, patience and trust.

"Mmm-hmm." The judge said, after watching a moment. "You can stop that now, Reverend Green. May I ask where you found those?"

"A few young men from our church family discovered them and brought them to our attention."

"By our, you mean…?"

"I mean myself, Mr. Tucker…" He introduced the other three men with him.

"And why did these young men bring these videos to your attention?"

"We are their spiritual leaders; we provide them with moral guidance and direction in their lives."

"I see. So you are the leaders of the young men who acquired these videos?" The judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor. We provide them with direction and guidance so that they might better follow the will of God."

"Would they do something without your direction, for example, acquire these films?"

"No, Your Honor, these are good, God-fearing young men who follow their father's leadership in all things. We asked them to help us make sure the minor child in question was going to a good home."

"And then they, what, report back to you? For example, they reported back to you when they found those videos?"

"Yes, Your Honor, they share their successes or failures with us."

'And would you consider their activities on the night they found those videos a success?"

"Well, yes Your Honor." There was the sound of someone clearing their throat from the back of the room. "To protect the minor child, but I don't understand why that's relevant."

The Judge looked to the back of the room when someone had cleared their throat. "Is that enough Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes, I believe so Your Honor." Within moments FBI agents were swarming the courtroom. "Robert Green, you are under arrest." Hotch seemed to take particular pleasure in that one.

"On what charges?" Pastor Green demanded, clearly outraged.

"Domestic terrorism," Hotch replied.

"On what grounds?"

"Well, let's see." Rossi was utterly unflappable as ever. "You just admitted to being the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, that they do nothing without your direction and they report their successes or failures back to you. Given that they stole those videos on the same night that we have evidence of them planting a bomb in an FBI agent's home, I'd call that admitting to being a terrorist leader, under oath."

It took a few, but eventually the courtroom was quiet again. All the while Spencer sat there, keeping Gwen close to him shielding her with his body from the fuss and anger in the room. It was bad enough having to tell everyone else involved what they expected to happen, what they might see. Even though they all admired her for being willing to do that to keep Madeline safe, even though she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, it had been so hard. "Now," the Judge started again. "I'm assuming CPS is aware of the nature of the Vallejo case and Dr. Reid's involvement in it?"

The CPS lawyer stood to address the court. "Yes, Your Honor, we have received full disclosure. And the agency is quite comfortable with the way the Reid's are handling the situation, we do not believe it will be detrimental to the child in any way."

"Very good. Moving on."

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Spencer sighed. On the one hand, they had arrested every known member of the Sons of Liberty, basically by arresting every male member of the Green, Tucker, and a handful of other families who were old enough to drive. That would be enough to stop them and have this whole mess shake out. The whole thing was in the hands of Homeland Security, and now that the profiles were presented, no longer a BAU problem.

On the other hand, thanks to all the excitement, even though all the reports were uniformly positive, they were going to take another three months before finalizing the adoption, just to be on the safe side, or so they said. "Is it just me," Gwen had leaned over and whispered when that decision was made, "or are they punishing Madeline and us for Green and his cronies making pains in the ass of themselves?"

"I think it's just us." Spencer had whispered back.

But in the end they were home. A home with some work done on the foundation wall, and a chunk of that flower bed gone. "At least they didn't pull out any of the roses." He said as he came around the car and surveyed the damage in the moonlight. They had been taken out to dinner by a jubilant team, happy to have the Sons behind bars at last.

"No, it's fixable." Gwen replied. "In fact," She looked over at Madeline, who was climbing out of the back seat of the SUV, "How would you like to design your own part of the garden?"

"That would be cool." Madeline grinned and the two of them wandered over to look at the size and shape of the bed in question.

Is it wrong to think of them as my ladies, Spencer thought as he went around to get the dog out of the car, is that horribly patriarchal? Just as he was going to unlock the back his phone rang. "Yeah Hotch." He said as he answered it, as he turned and watched Gwen unlock the house and the two of them go inside.

"They didn't get Benedict."

"DHS said they got all of them."

"One of the other brothers gave Benedict's name. They didn't pick him up in the sweep. He's still out there."

Just then Spencer felt himself falling as the pain flared.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

It took Gwen a moment to register the meaning behind that sharp crack of sound. It took her a moment because it ripped across her nerves like electricity from touching a live wire. The sensation slowed her down. It was a moment she would always regret.

It was, in the end, a moment. But a moment later, by the time she was turning to the door and saying "Madeline, get up stairs." It was already too late.

He was there.

"Hey Doc," Benedict Tucker cooed as he pressed the barrel of the gun to Madeline's temple. "Welcome home."

A gunshot, she realized, that was a gunshot and Spencer is still out there and please don't let him die, don't let him die, don't let him die, don't let him die. "What are you doing here? What do you want?" She asked as she slowly backed around the kitchen. The knives ought to be right about here and I am not going to be a victim again.

"Ah, ah, ah," he was holding Madeline to him with one arm, now with the other he pointed the gun at her. "Don't go anywhere. We're gonna go upstairs so me and Maddy here can have a little fun. Figured since you're so good at it you can give us some pointers." With that he gestured to the stairs with his gun.

He hasn't thought out this plan very well, she realized, Benedict here is not the sharpest knife in the proverbial drawer and he's used to his Daddy doing his thinking for him. Now he's on his own and on the run and thinking with his dick. That might be useful. Now if only I had paid attention back then. As she slowly climbed the stairs, that gun just inches from her back, she spotted an utterly familiar figure on the ground by the car. And he was on his cell phone. Please don't let him die, she thought, please don't let him die. I just have to distract Benedict until everyone gets here and it's ten minutes from Quantico and I am not going to be a victim again and that feels like a very long time. Just don't let anyone die.

Benedict guided them into her bedroom, a place that had already lost its sacred gleam since his friends went through their drawers during the break in. Once there he pushed Madeline ahead of him and shut the door behind him. He's protecting himself from his Daddy, she realized from the look on his face, the way he stood, he doesn't want Daddy to see. They enjoy nothing of sensuality, she remembered Spencer saying, they can maybe hold hands.

"Okay now." Benedict said once the door was latched. "Why don't you, uh, sit down and Maddy over there can get on the bed."

Breathe and breathe and I have to keep talking, Gwen thought, I can't shut down, not now. I can do this. I am not going to be a victim again. "Oh come now. Do you really want a child?" She caught his eye and held it as she bent down and pushed Madeline behind her, moving toward Benedict with a swing in her hip. "I know you saw those videos; you've seen what I can do." She made sure she had his attention, and then started unbuttoning her blouse, pausing to unhook the clasp on her bra on the way. "Why have a child when you can have a grown woman?" She asked, putting a purr into her voice as she let the material fall away.

* * *

Madeline crawled around to the other side of the bed. Benedict was here! He was here and he wanted to…to… her voice shut down and maybe her head shut down and where was Spencer, where oh where oh where. Benedict was right over there, he was over there and Gwen was there and he was going to hurt her, she knew he was, and she did not want her Mommy hurt, not like that, not ever. She curled closer and considered crawling under the bed to hide when she bonked her forehead on something.

It was a gun. Hanging from a pouch tucked into the side of the bed.

Now Gwen and Spencer had told her to never touch a gun, not once, not ever. They told her that if she ever did she would have to write a paper and present it to the FBI and they would put Uncle Hotch in the front row and when he got mad he got Really Mad, and it would be the scariest thing ever. But Benedict was out there and he was going to make Gwen do that thing and that was not going to happen. Not ever. She didn't even want to think of that.

She hadn't realized guns were so _heavy_.

Now she'd seen enough movies and TV shows to know what end went which way. She grabbed it by the handle, held on as best she could, and slowly stood up. Benedict was not going to hurt her, or her Mommy. She wasn't going to let herself be hurt again.

* * *

Gwen held back revulsion as she felt her nipples harden in the cool air of the room. She could tell from the hunger in his eyes, the way he moistened his lips, that she had Benjamin's full attention. "Well, come on then. We can do anything you've ever dreamed." She watched Benedict lower the gun and take a step forward, then two. Get closer, she thought, get to where I can get hands on you. After all that time working with Derek after I got back, all I need is you a little closer. I am not going to be a victim again.

Then he stopped.

He stopped, damn it.

He looked past her and lifted his gun again.

Gwen turned and there was Madeline, shaking like a sapling in a strong wind, Spencer's spare pistol in her way too small hands. Oh no, she thought, oh no. "No. No sweetie. Remember, we said never to touch a gun, not ever. Here, give that to me." She stepped back and over, carefully covered her daughter's hands, and gently pried the gun from them.

When she turned Benedict was pointing his gun at her. Then he smirked, and lowered it. "You ain't gonna shoot me." He said. "Fancy liberal educated bitch like you probably don't even know how to use a gun." He licked his lips and looked over her breasts again. "Why don't you just put that down and come over here."

Then they heard the sound of cars outside. A lot of cars outside.

Benjamin's eyes widened in panic.

He stepped over to look out the window.

He pointed his gun at his witness, at Madeline.

* * *

It wasn't a bad hit, Spencer thought, I'm not bleeding that badly. I think it ricocheted off the car, or something, it didn't have enough energy to go all the way through.

But it was the Same. Damn. Knee.

As a result he was still on the ground trying desperately to get to his feet, when the cavalry arrived in the form of every cop and FBI agent in a ten mile radius, with Morgan in the lead. Morgan only needed one look to analyze the situation. "Where are they?" He asked.

"Inside the house. With Benjamin. He's armed." Spencer replied. That idiotic bastard had been in there for ten minutes with his wife and his daughter. At the very least they were both terrified. Spencer wasn't entirely certain what he was going to do once he got his hands on Benjamin, he'd never felt this violent before. Well once. He'd beat Vallejo to death with a shovel, and there might be one…

The entire world stopped.

There was a gunshot from inside the house.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**Old Peterson House**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

Spencer sat on the gurney in the back of the ambulance and refused to go anywhere.

Everything was stable, everything was bandaged, and he really wasn't going to bleed to death or anything of that sort. And right now there was a more important decision being made. There were more important things to take care of.

"I would do it again." Gwen said, finally.

He looked down to where she rested against his shoulder. When Morgan brought her down, wrapped in his jacket, she'd been so far gone she was almost catatonic. Remembering the lessons of LA he had deposited Gwen with her husband, told the EMT's what was going on, and shooed them out of the ambulance for a few. For a little while, it had been quiet. Thankfully, that she was saying anything meant it was quiet enough. "Would you?" He asked, as he ran a hand over her hair.

"The entire time I was in there I thought that I am so tired of being a victim. Done, you know. And then he was going to kill my _daughter_." She buried her face in his shoulder. "I don't feel anything, though. That's a problem, isn't it?"

Spencer shook his head. "You will tomorrow." Tomorrow when he had to face Strauss. Tomorrow when Morgan would let the clean up people in to pull the remains of Benedict out of the carpet and wallpaper. Tomorrow. "And we'll talk about it then."

"Do you think they'll take her away?"

Spencer took a big, deep breath. Just outside the EMT's were looking over Madeline. And a brace of social workers were trying to decide what to with what was, in the end, a ward of the court. "I don't know."

"I don't know that I could handle that."

Spencer didn't think he could either. "I know."

The entire world seemed to hold its breath in the back of that ambulance.

Then the back door flew open and a little girl rushed in and swarmed them. Spencer and Gwen grabbed her and held her between them, even as the jostling caused spots to appear before his eyes. He got himself breathing again, and looked over at the woman standing in the doorway. "Just say that we can keep her." He said.

**Fredericksburg County Courthouse**

**Fredericksburg, VA**

**Three Months Later**

Pink dresses. Pink Satin dresses. She had insisted because it was supposed to be a party, and she'd always wanted to wear a pink party dress. Spencer had insisted on a simple, dark suit, but had succumbed to a pink satin tie when she insisted.

They said they had told a few friends, their family at the BAU. They had expected Morgan and Emily and Rossi, Penelope and Kevin, JJ and Will and Henry, Hotch and Jack. A few friends of Gwen's from the Smithsonian, a few of hers from church and school. But the courtroom was more or less full. Madeline looked around at the crowd, when did they get so many friends anyway?

And then she looked up at the gallery. "Who's that?" She asked Spencer.

He turned to look at the man standing there. When he looked back his eyes had gone soft. But then the judge was coming in and she would just have to ask him later.

Madeline was far too excited to remember it all afterwards. She knew the Judge was asking the social worker about this and that, and that and that at one point he asked if she was going to listen to Spencer and Gwen and do what they told her and try to learn from them because they would be her parents now, and she remembered grabbing their hands and nodding.

But she always remembered when they promised to be her parents, forever.

* * *

Afterwards, as they milled about outside the courtroom, being congratulated by just about everyone, Spencer stepped away for a moment. Leaning carefully on his cane to take some of the weight off his knee he went around the corner, where he would find the stairs to the gallery and the person who he was looking for. "I didn't expect to see you here." He said as he came around the corner.

"What, you think I would miss this?" Jason Gideon asked. "We started this together; I had to be here to see how it ended."

"You should come over and say hello. I know Gwen would love to see you again."

Gideon shook his head. "No. If I go out there it will be all about me and today is all about you. You deserve that."

Spencer smiled. "I couldn't have done it without you. I never would have found Gwen or been there to save Madeline without you."

"Nonsense, you would have found a way." Gideon pulled Spencer into a quick, rough hug. "I just came to say congratulations. You have a beautiful family."

Spencer didn't know what to say. Coming from his old mentor, his old friend, that meant a lot. He stepped back to look down the main hallway, watching his true companion and their daughter a moment. "Are you sure? I'm sure she wants to say thank…."

But when he turned back, Gideon was gone.

After a moment Spencer rejoined his family.

* * *

.

* * *

And so this is the end of how Gwen and Spencer started their family.

They may well have more adventures in the future, but for now I'm working on a very different story.

I know this one was a bit controversial, and will put up the promised page of footnotes in a day or so.

As always much thanks to the fabulous REIDFANATIC, best Beta Reader on the net, for all her help. I couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
